Canis Majoris
by AlwaysEatTheRude21
Summary: Where there is light, there is shadow. Harry Potter had always been the brightest star in the night sky. A beacon for all that was good... It was only right she was surrounded by the deepest abyss. A series of drabbles and short-shots that if you squint, might make a plot. Fem!Harry. Gordon/Oswald/Harry/Jerome/Edward HAITUS
1. Aid

**IMPORTANT NOTE:** What is this? I don't know. I have a million different things I should be working on, but this little plot bunny would not stop hopping around my head. So, here it is. I sort of fell into the 'five times' trope, but hopefully mixed it up enough to be classed as 'original'. Each chapter will be dedicated to a letter, just to make it a bit of a challenge for myself. like this chapter is A, I randomly picked a word beginning with A and got Aid. Next chapter will be the letter B, then C, then D, if you get what I'm poorly explaining. If you're up to it, P.M me or review a word beginning with the next letter of the alphabet and I'll try and do that word. So, next letter is B! XD Either way, I hope you enjoy this madness!

* * *

 **PART I **  
**A is for Aid.- A.K.A The three times Harry helped and the one time someone inadvertently helped her.**

* * *

 **Jim Gordon- No Chance.**

This new _'free-lancer'_ who had been contracted to work with the GCPD had first given Jim Gordon a lot to think over before more pressing matters had taken up most of his time and thought process. It hadn't helped his case that he had not seen, heard or even conversed with this 'Harry Potter'. What was that age old saying? Out of sight, out of mind. Jim had a lot on his plate without adding more to it and so, ignorance, the short while it lasted, was bliss indeed.

He knew very little about this mysterious person, having only picked up tidbits from the odd conversation between gossiping beat-cops as he walked across the lobby to his desk. He knew they were new to the district, to detective work, even to Gotham itself. In fact, that was the most worrying point Jim had taken a premature stance against. This person, who by all accounts looked barely out of high school, had been assigned to Gotham all the way from England.

Gotham really must have been going to shit if they had roped in help from aboard, from a teen whose job title was a flimsy 'free-lance enforcer'. Free-lance enforcer... What did that even mean? Did he enforce detective work? Police work? Assassination? Law? The kid was nineteen... Nineteen! How did he even have a job above waiter or cashier while slopping his daylight hours in lecture halls in university?

Jim really, really didn't know how to feel about the whole ordeal. In his eyes, Gotham didn't need help from an outsider. An outsider wouldn't understand Gotham, it's extravagant inhabitants, the daily oddities that blew up in their faces and most importantly, the danger they were putting themselves in by accepting this job.

The boy was a kid, too young to die at one of GCPD's many, many enemies hands. So no, Jim Gordan was not excited about this new addition. Not one bit. And what should happen even after his quite loud protests angrily whispered at the commissioner? The kid had been assigned to his and Harvey's cases. The commissioner had promised this Harry would be a large help he would be idiot to turn his nose up at, Jim saw it as a liability. Another life, young and bright, balancing in his shaky, already filled hands.

Of course, all this had been placed on others words he had half-heard, his own minds conjuring of a pimpled faced teen whose voice broke every sentence and his own assumptions. Never anything good to base an opinion or logic on. Nevertheless, assume he did and inevitably he paid for those assumptions twice over.

Tugging on his suit jacket, Jim nodded and politely smiled to the few detectives and cops that greeted him as he strolled through the GCPD lobby to his desk. Most ignored him, few glared. He definitely was not a popular man, and with the way he was going and his unnerving determination not to fold under the weight and promise of corruption, he never would be.

Making it to his desk, he stalled. Something didn't seem quite right. It only took him a few moments for his brain to supply the answer. His case files. Normally, after a harrowing week like he and Harvey had just been through, he left his case files on his desk, open, scattered, ready for Monday morning and another agonizing week. However... They were gone. Had Harvey sorted them for him?

Turning to ask Harvey where the hell his files were, he was once again jolted to a freeze. Normally, Harvey would be lounging on his desk chair, feet propped up on the wonky table, cheeks red from a night of boozing, glasses and suit skew-whiff and wrinkled. The sight that greeted him couldn't be more different.

Oh, his suit still needed a good wash and iron. His glasses still sat awkwardly on his nose and it was definitely Harvey sitting in his well-worn chair. But that was where the similarities to their normal routine stopped. Harvey was sitting up, hands clasping the back of his head, slightly kicked back but still more alert and perky than he normally was this time of the morning, grin wide and toothy, speaking to a... Woman who was literally sitting on his desk corner, legs crossed, slightly swinging, chatting amicably back to Harvey.

She was a small thing, even sitting, around five-two, perhaps five-five if you measured the mass of chaotic dark auburn curls that danced and twirled from her head too. The color was... Odd, Jim would admit. Dark, tantalizingly deep, nearly black, but shone with a fiery redness like vintage mulled wine that glinted even in the gloomy atmosphere. The good wine that cost an arm and a leg to even sip. She was pale too, almost deathly if it weren't for the pleasant blush and scattering of warm freckles splattered across a pixie nose. Her features were sharp, almost too sharp, a potent feline grace that bordered on unnatural. A large scar split across her forehead, breaking one eyebrow into two, nearly crossing the crease of her eye to caress a pupil. Yet, it was her eyes that caught and held you still, even if they were not directly looking at you. Was that shade of green even possible?

Only when Harvey's gaze slithered to him, still standing like an moron just behind of the woman's shoulder, did Jim snap back to himself like an elastic band had been flicked onto his brain, kick-starting it. Coughing into his closed fist, he was slightly surprised that the woman didn't jump nor turn to face him. It was as if she already knew he was there. Straightening out, Jim painted on his best smile and rumbled out to Harvey as he made his way to his own desk, sitting down with a muted thud.

"Cheers for sorting my files Harvey, but where the hell are they?"

If possible, Harvey's grin widened until it looked painful to bear, even if the glint in his eyes contradict that effect.

"Oh, it wasn't me, it was Harry. They're in your top draw, the left side."

Jim scoffed, for once being the person to kick back in his chair, staring incredulously at Harvey, one eyebrow mockingly raised. Was he really meant to believe that? If Jim had been against the idea of this outsider coming in, Harvey had nearly run a full-scale mutiny to stop it from happening. So, he doubted Harvey would let the kid run through the files, let alone go anywhere near their desks. Had he drank an off cup of coffee? Had his morning bagel been drugged?

"Oh, yeah, of course. The English guy? The one who is likely still snoring away at home, a retainer on his bedside table and who likely only speaks in acronyms did this? Barely out of high school, he came in and sorted my files for me? Pull the other one, Bullock. Wasn't it only yesterday you couldn't stop calling him all the names under the sun? What? A fan now that he's doing the paperwork?"

For some reason, Harvey gave a jagged wince that could be confused for the beginning symptoms of heart failure, hands falling from the back of his head, flopping onto his lap, stiffly sitting up and shooting the woman a weary smile. The woman, in turn, chuckled, a sweet sound, like a warm summer breeze and blue skies, and jumped down from the desk, crossing her leather clad arms over her chest, sending a snarky grin in Harvey's direction.

"Did he now?"

However, the woman soon turned to face Jim on a twirl of her boot, cocking her head to the side as she scanned him with a friendly smile and a glow to her too keen eyes. Normally, he was alright under scrutiny. This time, however, he fidgeted, once again pulling on the tail end of his suit jacket. Finally, she broke the silence and after, Jim wished she hadn't.

"I'm Potter. Harry Potter. Nice to meet you... Detective Gordon was it? I hear we're going to be working rather closely together over the next few months.

Harry Potter. The woman's name was Harry Potter. God damn it. Perhaps the commissioner was right, he was a complete imbecile. To be completely fair, who named their daughter Harry? Spluttering out an unintelligible apology, Harry cut across him, leaning slightly forward on the last word, throwing back his own unintentional jab right back at his flushing face. Poetic, in a way.

"Oh, and you're welcome about your files... _Btw._ "

Trying to divert the course of the conversation, Jim hastily pulled the aforementioned desk drawer open, heaving the case files onto his desk, flicking through before scanning again, frowning when he came up short.

"Where's the Fasbender case file?"

There was that chuckle again, marshmallow dipped in fairy dust and Jim's flush deepened to sunburn red. It stung too. Out of the corner of his eye, stubbornly keeping his eyes on the pile of files so he didn't make himself out more of a fool as he already had, Jim saw her shove her hands deep into her jean pockets. It wasn't a... Conventional get up for their job, but strangely, for her, it worked.

"That? I finished it this morning. The killer's down in the cells if you want to re-question him and all reports have been handed into head office."

Jim's gaze wondered over to the clock on the wall ticking obnoxiously away, growing more bewildered. Harry Potter had not supposedly arrived in Gotham until last night, starting shifts today. Even if she came in the earliest time the GCPD opened, it would have been six o'clock... Which means she had solved the case in a measly three hours while arguably heavily jet-lagged.

"... But I and Harvey have been working that case for a month, at a dead end, no leads left. You've only been here three hours... How?"

Harry gave a non-committal shrug, grin still affable and good-natured, slowly strolling to the stairs that would lead her down to the main lobby, likely heading to the small kitchen to get a drink before the real working hours began. Still, if this was what she had accomplished off duty, only a day in Gotham, what other seemingly miraculous things could this small, unassuming woman do?

"Two hours and twenty-seven minutes, actually. You better keep up Detective Gordon."

With a cheeky wink, she descended the stairs with a bounce to her step, leaving Jim stalled once more. Nonetheless, when action and thought process did return sluggishly to his body, he didn't waste time, whirling on Harvey with clenched teeth and a hushed voice.

"You could have given me a heads up!"

Harvey's boisterous laughter was loud and strong enough to shake walls. Great. He had not scavenged enough of his composure through his brief conversation with Harry to not be the butt of Harvey's jokes for the oncoming... Oh, he would say, next several months. Some days he wondered why he even got out of bed. Harvey's tone was just as loud, barbed and jovial as his laughter.

"What? And ruin the surprise and that flaming pink blush you're sporting? No chance."

* * *

 **Oswald Cobblepot- Penguin**  
 **Lady luck.**

Oswald Cobblepot hobbled down the highway, pressing himself into the embankment, away from the cars that zoomed past him without so much as a passing backward glance. His suit clung to him, sodden, frigid and water clogged. Chilling him to the bone, a small shaking shiver dancing up and down his spine. Holding his hand out once more as he heard the rumble of a car behind him, he wasn't surprised when it carried on with its journey instead of stopping. Either people in Gotham needed a lesson in manners and humility or hitchhiking was not as easy to accomplish as books and T.V made it out to be. Oswald thought it was a bit of both. Just his luck.

Of course, he wouldn't be in this predicament if it wasn't for Falcone, Fish Mooney or Detective Gordon. However, he would bounce back. He always did. The detective joining their game of power struggles threw a wrench into things, an unexpected ace in the hand that Oswald hadn't had time to calculate, but he knew now. The detective was a good person, not entirely a white knight but good enough to be boringly predictable. After all, he was still alive because of Jim Gordon. Now, with his fake death in play, he had time to recuperate and plan. In trying to kill him, or save him in Gordon's case, they had all danced to the tune he was whistling.

Of course, the soaking wet, stilted walk through Gotham's streets looking for a ride, he could do without, but beggers can't be choosy as his beloved mother would say. It was a slight setback, not a decimation of his plans. That was all. He just had to keep pushing forward. He refused to go back to the umbrella holding errand boy. He had come too far to fall back now.

At the tell-tale rattle of an engine, Oswald's hand shot out on instinct, thumb raised to the cloud-ridden sky. Once again, he had expected for the vehicle to drive right past him, but when the smooth rumble stuttered to a stop and he heard the small squeak of tires slowing on asphalt, his own weary walk drained to a standstill.

It wasn't a car like he had expected, but a motorbike with a strange, oval carriage attatched to its side. His legs hurt enough that it didn't really matter to him. It could have been a filled hearse and he would have scrambled into the back like a drowned puppy seeking shelter. Scrambling into the carriage, still shivering, he saw the person, who had been kind enough to stop, reach up and slide of their blackout, visored helmet, shaking their hair free from the tight confines.

"You're lucky I bought the carriage out today. Bloody hell mate, you've taken a right dip ain't you? Here, take your jacket off."

Huddled, cramped, knees pressed to his quaking chest in the small carriage, Oswald finally turned to look fully upon his 'savior'. It was a woman, a young woman but a woman all the same. Her dress sense left a lot to be desired. Holey jeans that were nearly disintegrated. Army boots, black, unlaced. An old, nearly washed out band T-shirt that just peaked out. A dark, dove gray hoody, unzipped, open underneath a well loved and looked after leather jacket, one size too big for her small frame.

However, where her sense of style left a bad after taste in Oswald's mouth, her looks and beaming, toothy smile made up for it ten times over. She was a ragged little thing, rough around the edges, but a diamond underneath all that coal dust. Immediately, he began to stutter incoherently, uncannily the girl only smiled brighter, dimples imprinting in flushed cheeks. It was so bright, he wasn't sure he could look at it directly.

"W-... What?"

Before he could question further, or stop the damned shake in his voice, the woman was swinging a leg over the beast of a motorbike she had been straddling, shuffling out of her leather jacket and hoody. Bending down, she came close, leaning over towards him and Oswald couldn't help the breath that he snaggly sucked in.

This close, too close but strangely not close enough for his liking, the contradiction playing games with his mind, he could see the small splattering of freckles dusted across her nose. Then she was touching him. Willingly touching him. Something only his mother had readily done before. He could hear his own swallow bounce in the air between them. Her hands were gentle, small and delicately bird-boned as they slightly pushed him forward, slipping his soaked jacket off, leaving it draped over the side. Away from him, but not out of reach. Then she was wrapping her leather jacket around his shoulder, barely reaching around the circumference due to the size difference. Perhaps that was why it was one size bigger. Did she make a habit of clothing half-drowned people? She seemed the sort with that star-like glow of goodness to her skin and eyes.

After the jacket was snuggly wrapped around his back, she used her hoody as if it was a blanket, swathing it over his front, tucking it in tightly, pressing warmth and heat and life into his open pores.

She smelled like earl gray tea, elderflowers and something sweet that beckons a closer sniff, and another, and another. It was a pleasant scent. Natural. Unfiltered. Alluring.

"Do you want to go to the hospital, you're looking peaky."

Oswald blinked a succession of rapid blinks, shaking his foggy thoughts away with a shake of his head. His dripping locks splattered onto his forehead, rivets of dank dock water trailing down his sallow face and obscuring his vision.

"No, no... You're British?"

She leaned back a fraction and Oswald found he could breathe normally again. Unhindered. However, she had also taken the warmth and light with her, imaginary or real, he did not know, leaving him to shiver again. Yet, with his state, his jumbled speech, most people would have thought him a drug addict, kicked him out and left. She only grinned. No one had really smiled like that at him before, apart from his mother of course. Holding her fist up, she extended a finger one by one with each passing word.

"Bloody. Knickers. Bollucks. Wanker. Tosser. Yep. British alright. My name's Harry...Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital... Okay. Where are you heading then?"

Oswald stopped shaking his head from another denial to the woman's request, idly looking past her and down the road.

"Oswald Cobblepot. Er, out of Gotham. If you're heading that way."

Out of the corner of his sight, he could see her frown, mimicking his gaze down the winding road.

"Yeah, heading home just on the outskirts of Gotham, just cross the border in the countryside. Do you... Do you not have a specific destination? I can't just drop you off in the middle of the street like... This."

Oswald tried to smile but even he knew it didn't come across as convincing. In truth, he didn't want to be dropped off anywhere in the state he was. He wanted to be back home, warm, in bed, with his mother. But that was a dangerous move, one his mother would pay for him and he wasn't willing to risk any harm coming her way. So, he would push on. Lie to this Harry as much as he was to himself.

"No. I'm a bit down on my luck, you see. Thought I'd make a shot of it outside this city. Can't be too bad, right?"

He finally turned to face her again and her eyes seemed greener than what could be natural. They weren't contacts, the ethereal shine to them denied that possibility. They were unnerving, especially when in contact with his own, as if she was looking into his soul. For a moment, she was silent, deadly silent and Oswald feared she was going to kick him out and call it a day. Surely good deeds need only to go so far? He didn't know. He was new to this whole... 'Goody' act. Then that sunbeam smile was back and his shiver died once more.

"Well, outskirts is still out of the city. Come on, you're heading back with me."

Oswald stuttered and fumbled with the hoody wrapped around him, fighting to escape the cloth prison.

"Oh, no, no, no. I couldn't impose. Please, just drop me off at-"

Harry cut him off with a keen eye that was beyond the years of her face. Strange. For someone so small, innocent looking at first glimpse with an obvious need to do good, that glint looked far too dangerous to be present on someone like her.

"Look, you obviously have no place to stay and I'm not about to leave you without a roof over your head when you're soaking wet. You'll catch hypothermia and die. Then your death will be on me. I mean, my house isn't much, but it's something, you know? You'll just have to trust that I'm not some psycho killer."

She chuckled at the end but Oswald could find no humor. She may not be a... 'Psycho killer' as she called it, of that he had no doubt. She oozed goodness like Fish Mooney excremented greed. However, he was a killer. In some cases, he could be classed as 'psycho'. He had no illusions about who and what he was. Still, not really in control of his mouth, he found himself speaking.

"I... Thank you."

Harry turned, nodded, curls bouncing as she stood back up to swing back onto the bike, pulling her helmet on, but leaving the visor up. With a flick of the handle and her thin wrist, the bike kicked into gear and they were off. Over the whistle and howl of the wind, he could just about hear her, as well as her bell-like laughter that followed.

"Ah, don't mention it. Just don't expect me to cook you breakfast. I set fire to cereal."

Even with the day he had, the bleak outlook of his survival over the next months if he could pull off what Falcone had set him with, he found himself laughing along with the strange, other-worldly girl. Perhaps lady luck had finally taken a shine to him... Who knew she was a redhead?

* * *

 **Jerome Valeska- The Joker**  
 **Fire and brimstone**

Jerome Valeska was good at hiding. A pro, really. He was good at hiding from his drunkard of a mother and her numerous amours. He was brilliant at hiding behind words, smiles and good-natured jokes. He was fantastic at hiding his insanity behind the drab act of normality. It was all a play to him. The world his stage. All costumes, lines and fake emotions. Glitter and sequins hiding the shattered mirror beneath.

Today, his hiding spot was just behind the magician's caravan, camouflaged by haystacks. he wouldn't be found there unless they really hunted him down. Another game of tag he relished in. No one really spoke to Haly's circus's magician. The man was a recluse, hostile even, barely uttering anything to anyone if it wasn't necessary. He had been with them for nearly a year, perhaps two by now and after all the welcoming had proven useless, the Haly's Circus inhabitants had treated him as he had done them. With barely concealed agitation and reluctance. He was good at his job, the best most had ever seen, the only saving grace in keeping him in the employ.

However, as Jerome perched on a haystack, dabbing at the trickling blood from his broken nose, he witnessed something he suspected he shouldn't have. Perfect. he adored secrets! Especially if they were something he could use or incorporate into the many characters he liked to play. From the rustic shell of the caravan, he could hear the magician's voice intersect with another's voice. Terry Boot if he remembered the name correctly, the man had bored him from the get go, memorizing his name was a low priority. Two voices. The magician had a visitor, did he? Well, well, well. Wasn't that interesting?

"So, you caught the death eater then? What are you still doing in Gotham Harry?"

Jerome turned his head, angling his ear towards the open grated window at the very top of the tall caravan. It was only a small thing, barely bigger than a shoe box, but in the silence that fell on the circus two hours before the show's opening, it may as well have been a megaphone.

"I told you. I was assigned and once they found out how... Unique and ... So many... Strange city... Hotspot... So they told me... I wanted to stay."

The second voice was softer than Boot's, whispy, husky, warmer. However, this far away, with the pitch of the voice, Jerome couldn't quite make out what she was saying fully. Well, that wouldn't do. What good was learning secrets to use as weapons if you only learned a part of them? No, it wouldn't do at all. This was a surprise with a big black bow and his name written on it. He wanted to rip his gift to shreds.

Slipping off the hay stack, Jerome edged forward, fingers reaching up to the grate to pull himself up more, putting his ear as close to the grate as possible. The bite to his soft flesh was welcome. Jerome thrived on pain. Adored it as much as his mother loved men and cheap bourbon. Of course, that was on the contingency that he was the one giving it, to himself or others. He was the one in control. Always in control.

"Well, you're an unlucky bastard aren't you? From what I've heard of that place... Well, not one of our kind would be caught dead there. Still, at least you got assigned to an actual city and not a fucking circus. A literal, bloody circus."

He couldn't see the woman or the magician, but by the way she followed the magician's statement with a heady sigh, softly, feathers and oil, he pictured a faceless blob running a hand through hair, pacing maybe. He hoped she was pacing. He hoped she was agitated, angry, ruffled, on edge. Those were always the best sort of people.

"It isn't so bad Terry... In fact, I quite like it. Of course, crazy shit is happening on a day to day basis, but that's nothing new for me and well, I like the people there."

Before Jerome could get more, fix the riddle and add a punchline, a hand snatched his shoulder, clamped and taught, pulling him down, flipping him around and slamming him into the trailer with an almighty thump, the voices from the trailer stopping completely at the unexpected noise.

"I didn't say you could leave the caravan, Jerome. Neither did your mother."

Ah, the escape artist. Jerome would have thought his mother would have swapped men by now. After all, it was nearly three o'clock. She must be getting old. Still, as a grin spread across his cheeks like an oil slick in the ocean, his nose ached, reminding him exactly who gave it to him. The man in front of him. He really didn't like leaving loose ends.

"Well, I was trying to impress you! I thought you would appreciate the Houdini tribute-"

The escape artist, Jerome never knew his name, pulled him forward before slamming him back into the trailer, snarling, the smell of bitter, cheap whiskey ghosting across his face, stinging his abused nostrils. Jerome laughed, full and true and slightly unhinged. However, his little show was cut off by a slam of a thin door bouncing off metal, a set of sharp steps and an unimpressed shout.

"Oi, fucker, let him go!"

Jerome went with the flow of the change of the script, slowly cocking his head to the side, eyeing the newcomer. What people looked like never really registered with Jerome, neither did their choice of dress if it wasn't something he could use. What did pierce through and register was emotion. Personality. Heavy, hot and poignant characters. This woman reminded him of a fire pit. Blistering and scorching, destroying all in its wake. Hell wrapped up in skin and human form, that was what this woman was... Delicious. She ignored him, instead focusing all that exquisite fervor on the escape artist. What a waste.

"This has nothing to do with you girl. Go back inside the trailer."

As he pulled Jerome forward once more, as if using him as a meat shield, Jerome turned his neck as far as it could go to watch the woman and found she was now focusing on him, eyeing his nose. Her gaze was just as hot and burning as her temperament was. Glorious.

"Did he do that?"

She jerked her head in his direction and Jerome chuckled. Normally, he knew what to say, how to act, to get a person to do exactly as he wanted. In this case... He was at a loss. She was splendidly unpredictable. For just this once, he didn't mind not being in control.

"What can I say? Gotta work on my duck it seems."

She smiled and Jerome thought he was seeing a solar flare. All blinding light, heat and deadly radiation. If he wasn't so observant, he would have missed her right hand balling into a fist. She took three steps forward, front nearly pressing into his back. He wondered if her skin ran as hot as her fiery nature did. Jerome had always loved explosions and fireworks. She didn't disappoint. It would have been upsetting if she had. She showed so much... Promise.

"Well, you better start practicing... Now."

Jerome managed to duck out of the escape artist's hold just as the woman swung, her fist connecting to the escape artist nose with a sickening crunch. He fully let go of Jerome as he fumbled back, landing on his butt in a pile of hay, hands shooting to his bleeding nose, swearing profusely.

"There you go, it's all even. Now, fuck off before I knock your teeth down your throat."

There was an edge of darkness to the girl, all brimstone and wrath. Jerome wondered what would happen if she really, truly, wholly let go of it. Let it run free and dance. The escape artist was wise enough to eye her warily before scrambling away with another set of foul words hauled her and his way.

Jerome stood back up, cracking his neck before slowly turning to the newcomer. Up this close, she was short. Around his age. Interesting. Fascinating. More secrets Jerome wanted to bury his teeth into. Would they taste of copper or fire?

"So little red, do I get a name for the face of my fearless heroine, or should I make it up? I can be very... Creative."

The woman opened her mouth to answer but, oddly without Jerome noticing, the magician was standing behind Harry, glaring at Jerome but worryingly wringing his hands. He had never liked Jerome. Always giving him the stink eye, avoiding him more than he did for the other circus showmen, glaring at him when they did cross paths... Not for long. Jerome had a special little knife with just his name on it.

"Harry, We still have things we need to discuss... Now."

Harry sighed, flicking her gaze to Boot before shrugging at Jerome with a small smile.

"Sorry ginger snaps, perhaps another time. If you or the circus is ever by Gotham, I'll be sure to pop in. Make sure you have a name picked out by then."

Just as Harry was leaving to go back into the caravan with the thin, plain, boring cretin Boot, Jerome shouted back, eyes wide and excited.

"I'll hold you to that!"

The door shut with a smile thrown over her shoulder at him. It didn't take that much effort nor planning to 'convince' the circus organizer to divert from Jersey to head to this Gotham in the summer. June to be precise. Now he just needed a name.

* * *

 **Edward Nygma- The Riddler**  
 **Refund.**

"What is easy to get into, but hard to get out of?"

Harry Potter's nose scrunched up as she concentrated, arms crossed over her chest. She was using the morgue table to prop her hip on, feet casually crossed, looking for all the world she was comfortable and at ease, not aware of the dead, half-rotten body still on the table, half covered by a muslin cloth. At the door, Detectives Gordon and Bullock stood guard, refusing to enter the small room, looking glum and bored beyond measure.

Edward was used to that type of behavior, actions like Gordon's and Bullock's. They never really entered unless that had too, the same went for sticking around, often dashing out the door or away from him once they had what they had begrudgingly gone to him for. Harry's behavior, however, was something new to acclimatize himself to. He wasn't a fool. It wasn't the bodies that scared them off but himself that sent them tailing it out of his vicinity at socially acceptable speeds.

"Oh, that one's easy Ned! Trouble. Now come on, give me a real one. You've gotta keep me on my toes."

Edward had little run in with Harry before a week ago. He'd seen her, for sure, everyone had. She had a habit of drawing attention straight off the bat as soon as she put her dainty foot through the doorway. Still, Edward had never ventured close. He had thought he knew people like her. Something to look at, watch, but never someone like him to speak to. He had been okay with that. Watching was what he did best. He was happy watching. Then that changed and he realized trying to categorize someone like Harry Potter was a fool's task. Unquantifiable, Edward would call her.

She was a strange addition to their rag-tag group. Part of the GCPD but not simultaneously. She was often drafted onto Gordon and Bullock's escapades, ready and willing with that playful smile of hers. Yet, she had her own cases given that were... 'confidential'. The only two people knowledgeable in exactly what it was that she was doing or did day to day being herself and the commissioner. It was a frustrating question that taunted him.

Although, he was slightly thankful. It was how they had first met after all. She had needed a foreign compound analyzed and after he had given it to her, not letting on he had kept a copy of the file for himself, after all, he had no idea what this substance was and needed to rectify that, he had asked her a riddle, not able to stop himself. She had paused in the doorway, foot comically half lifted before she slowly swirled to face him, one eyebrow arching.

He was sure a rebuttal would come, they always did. No one ever understood the joy of figuring out something complicated, something other people couldn't wrap their little minds around. It meant you were smarter than someone... Better. Sadly, Edward didn't have many chances in his life to feel better than anything really. So he relished in his riddles and puzzles like a pig in muck. A rest bite from the harsh, frigid world outside his own mind. In the end, he had thought Harry, having gotten what she wanted, would say 'not now' or some other dreary denial and leave as quick as she came. They all did.

However, she had smiled, nicknamed him Ned, his first nickname that wasn't derogatory or meant to scold and berate him, told him she didn't know, re-entered the room and when he told her the answer, she did something even more peculiar... She asked for another one.

Now, for the last week, she had been popping in every morning for a riddle, bearing gifts of caffeine and overly sugary tarts or jelly beans. It was... Nice. Having someone come to you, not expecting to have anything in return, words clipped short and ragged, was refreshing. No, she came for riddles, chats... Company, his company. He was still trying to figure out why she, someone like her, seemed to like it so much when others obviously detested it.

However, things had taken a turn for the worst. The last few days, since a new 'confidential' mysterious case had slammed its way onto her desk, she had become withdrawn, less easy to smile, more solemn and she was never far from her file, pouring over it. Just this morning, she had not popped in like she had done all week, eight o'clock on the dot, only visiting ten minutes ago with a sheepish 'Sorry, I've been caught up', sans any drink or treat.

Oddly, Edward didn't like it. Stifling a million questions he wanted to ask her, needed to ask her or figure out eventually, Edward gave a slight smile, raised his pointer finger and clicked.

"A boy fell off a hundred foot ladder, but did not get hurt. Why not?"

Bullock, as angsty as he always was around Edward, wanting far away from him, scoffed but for the first time in three days, Harry smiled. It was worth putting up with Bullock's never ending disdain for an hour or two to have Harry smile like that.

"Alright, you stumped me. How?"

Edward chuckled, reaching up to push his glasses further up his nose, seemingly growing taller under her inadvertent compliment to his ego.

"He was only on the first step."

For a second, her eyes slanted, head cocking slightly to the side and his smile faltered. Had the riddle accidentally upset her? Had she had a ladder-related accident before? Damn it, he should know better than to try by now.

However, before anyone could blink, Harry laughed, cheerful, bellied, bell-like laughter, pushing off the table and dancing over to him.

Before the shock could wear off enough for him to speak, She tipped onto her tip toes, clasped his face in her hands, pulled him down as far as his lanky form let her and planted a solid kiss on his forehead. Her lips branded his skin. All too soon, she had let him go, backing away at an alarming speed, still laughing.

"Oh, you brilliant, brilliant man! It's his first phase, his first moon! He hadn't fully turned, just partially! I owe you one Ned!"

Then she was gone, sweeping out of the room like a whirlwind of color and passion, pushing past a shocked and prone Gordon and Bullock. His stunned state was only broken by Harvey's incredulous voice.

"Nygma gets the first kiss? What the hell? Am I dead? If this is the afterlife, I demand a refund."

* * *

 **What do you think? Good? Bad? Absolute trash? Let me know by dropping a review!**

 **~AlwaysEatTheRude21**


	2. Bachelorhood

**PART II**  
 **B is for Bachelorhood- A.K.A- The three times people made Harry happy she was alone and the one time someone convinced her otherwise.**

* * *

 **Edward Nygma-The Riddler**  
 **Perfectly Imperfect.**

Edward Nygma and Harry Potter were standing at the edge of a doorway, peering inside through the crack of the ajar door, hidden by the looming shadows of the high-backed walls and narrow hallway. Inside was a congregation of cops on break, laughing, drinking, surrounding a woman who was smiling prominently, twittering a giggle that sounded like it belonged to a small robin as she fiddled with her ponytail. Harry frowned, gaze flickering between the woman and an ardently watching Edward. Her voice carried on her breath, whispy smoke, trying to stay hidden from the cops just on the other side of the door.

"Are you sure this is the one you li-... Are you sure you want to go through with this, Ned? Right now? Perhaps we should come back, there's a big crowd. I know you're nervous."

Edward sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, pulling away from the crack, thumping into the wall, leaning back, boneless as he sagged against the painted brick, eyeing Harry who was still frowning.

"I thought you said you would be happy to play 'wing woman' as you called it? If you're uncomfortable, please don't feel like you have to-"

Harry smiled and stood up too, pulling away from the door, laying a tingling, toasty hand on his bicep. Harry always seemed to run hotter than most people, as if she was constantly in the throws of a harsh fever. In Gotham with the smog, rain and snow blizzards, it was a welcome change to have someone around you that literally radiated out heat like a crackling log fire. Incidentally, it didn't seem to bother her. Perhaps it was a genetic mutation that just made her core temperature hotter.

"Hey, I said I'd back you, didn't I? Trust me, it's all good... It's just... Her? Really?"

Edward stopped his fiddling, an anxious, uncontrollable coping mechanism of his that he couldn't shake since childhood. Looking up to the ceiling, avoiding Harry's all too knowing eyes, he whispered back.

"Why not her? She's attractive, pleasant enough, polite and punctual-"

Harry's ill-hidden laughter broke off his well-prepared speech, almost loud enough to alert the inhabitants of the room behind him to their presence. Just to make sure they hadn't been discovered, he peeped back inside, sighing in relief when he saw they were all still chatting away, none the wiser.

"Punctual? Ned, love, if anyone ever said the reason they liked me was 'punctuality', we'd have issues. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying she's a bad woman. Yes, she's beautiful. Yes, she's polite and she has her funny moments... I just don't think... I don't like the way she looks or talks to you... About you, even when you're there to hear it."

Edward slid away from the door once more, turning to face Harry with a heavy set frown and a downward pull to his lips before his face lightened up like a bulb had been switched on inside that big brain of his.

"Looks at me? Talks about me? Oh, right. I understand. I think you've been mistaken, Harry. She's a very busy woman and doesn't have much time to converse with me. Of course, she would be churlish and snappish if I constantly interrupt her schedule."

Edward felt like he was lying a little... No, he was lying. Full stop. After all, she had all the time in the world to have these little meet ups in her office every other day and gossip and talk with relative strangers for hours, yet didn't have the time for small talk when he came in to file a report. Harry gave him a sad smile, not pity laced, but as if his pain hurt her too. Before she could reply they heard a male voice, scorn-filled tone, pick up from inside the room.

"So, you and that Nygma guy... What's that all about?"

Slowly, Edward peeked back around but Harry winced, especially by the loud chuckle Kristen gave. Edward felt something hit the pit of his stomach, sinking, dragging, tugging him down to the floor.

"Nygma? Me? Oh, no, no, no! You have it all wrong. There's nothing between us. Nothing at all. In fact... He creeps me out a bit. Well, a lot actually. He's always staring, watching and speaking in-"

One of the cops cut her off and the dragging feeling turned to blazing vertigo. Was that... Was that really what she thought of him? Or was she putting a show on for her comrades? No... She wouldn't have spoken so casually about it if that was not the way she felt.

"Those damned riddles. I wished he learned a new tune. If I have to hear one more-"

Edward didn't hear anything else as he marched away from the door, Harry's echoing footsteps telling him she was hot on his heels.

"Ned? Ed? Edward, wait up!"

Edward carried on marching, planning to lock himself away in the morgue, away from the humiliation of Kristen Kringle laughing about him, the police laughing at him... The whole precinct mocking and taunting him while they thought he was out of earshot and Harry hearing it all. Weirdly, Harry hearing it hurt much more than the realization of what people really thought of him. He had always known deep down. How could he not? Why did he keep doing this to himself?

"No. You were right, Harry. I should have never tried."

He could hear Harry's huff of agitation behind him, her tone taking on an edge that he had never heard before. Razor sharp, almost poisonous.

"Don't put words in my mouth Nygma, whatever you do... Never do that. I said perhaps you shouldn't try with her, not to give up entirely-... Edward, wait, stop and bloody talk to me!"

Her small hand wrapped around his elbow, splitting him away from his abrasive march to his lab, forcing him to stall as she pulled him with more strength than he predicted from her small body. Once he stopped, she twirled him around to face her, fingers bruisingly digging into his flesh. Just another reminder of his humiliation.

Instead of seeing disgust and humor bubbling joyfully from her eyes at his humiliation like he had expected, he saw pain. She really did hurt for him. Humourlessly chuckling at himself, he waved an arm out as if welcoming someone into his house.

"What was I even thinking Harry? Of course, she feels that way... They all do. I was just... For once I thought... I mean, am I not enough? I've tried everything. Changing my clothes, how I interact, my speech pattern, my body language... I don't know why everyone detests me so... I just... I don't know what else I can do."

Harry flinched as if she'd been struck, grip loosening to a petal soft skim before taking a step forward, nearly toe to toe with him, raising her other hand to clasp at his other arm, daringly looking deeply into his eyes, having to crane her neck back to look at his face this close.

"Ned... No, Ned. That's where you're going wrong. You're... You should never try and change yourself. Not for anybody but you. Yes, Kringle is pretty, has a cute laugh and is likely a very pleasant woman, but that does not excuse the way she treats you."

Harry snickered and Edward couldn't look away.

"No, you're not perfect. But here's the secret Ned, the real kicker... None of us are. No one. I promise you that. You are odd. You do speak in riddles. You do have a habit of unnervingly watching people uncannily close. But that isn't bad Ned! You wait outside looking in not to spy, but to wait to be asked in. You're always the last person to sit down not because you're being rude, but because you like to make sure everyone has a seat before you take yours. Your riddles are honestly one of the highlights of my day, and yes, you have a habit of rambling, but if people actually tried to listen, they'd realize they have a lot to learn. You're observant, picking up things no one else does."

Harry seemed to be getting heated, passionate, pulling her hands away to extravagantly gesture as she rambled on. He wondered if this is what she looked like on the field, when she was working cases with Gordon and Bullock. Did they get to see this fiery passion, the heat, or was it just for him and his eyes?

"You're a kind, thoughtful, loving genius of a man and if others can't see that, even Kringle, they're bloody morons and it's their fault. Not yours! Fuck those cops. Fuck the precinct and fuck Kringle. You're fine just the way you are! Perfection is unreal, shallow and fatally uninteresting. A complete snore. You are anything but boring Ned. Why do you think I annoy and badger you every chance I get?"

That's the first time anyone had ever said that to him. He tried to swallow the hot coal lodged in his throat.

"You're a beautiful person Harry, inside and out. Your significant other is a lucky person indeed."

Harry scoffed a little, barricading herself into her arms as she folded them over her chest, blocking him out, pushing away the compliment.

"Yeah, no. I'm single. And people like Kringle and those cops make me happy about it. I haven't got the patience or time to be playing those games. Now, come on, there's some ice tea and cupcakes in the kitchen that have our names on them."

Harry was right. He wasn't perfect. Kringle wasn't perfect... Apparently, against what he had originally thought. The cops weren't perfect, tangled in their own Id, ego and superego. Harry wasn't perfect either. Having said that, out of anyone he had ever met, heard about or read of, Harry, with her foul mouth, poor style and insatiable sweet tooth, was the closest thing to perfection. Perhaps together, they could be perfectly imperfect.

* * *

 **Jim Gordon**  
 **Attatchments.**

Jim, Harvey and Harry were all sitting around a shady booth in an even more obscure bar on the corner of Sprang River Ave. They looked like a hot mess, the three of them, Jim knew. Tired. Clothes wrinkled, wonky. Harry even had blood splatterings decorating half her face, neck and top. Here though, in Gotham, no one asked any questions, no one looked, no one cared. It was a common occurrence. It was just another reason Jim Gordon wanted to clean the streets up.

Harry sighed drowsily as she took another gulp of her whiskey, downing it all in one, pouring herself a new one from the half empty bottle. To be fair to the young woman, she held her liquor better than even Harvey, a certified veteran in drinking. The man had learned that the hard way after challenging her to a competition that had left the three in laughter and Harvey passed out in the corner of the bar, pink feather bower wrapped around his neck as Harry took pictures. However, laughter was far from their thoughts, feelings and lips right then.

They had just gotten away, barely with their lives, from Falcone's mansion, losing their brave but foolish quest in arresting him and the mayor and ending the power struggles the higher up criminals instigated on a nearly weekly basis. Jim had been against her accompanying them in the beginning, but in her own words, it wasn't her first 'suicide run' and likely wouldn't be her last.

Strangely, Gordon didn't doubt that. The girl was uncanny. Shot always hitting the mark. Appearing out of nowhere in the exact place and time she was needed to pull him and Harvey out of the fire with a sarcastic remark. Absolutely brilliant at thinking on her feet, plans forming and reforming with each new development that left even him dizzy. The girl was a whirlwind tornado of action and unpredictability. She was a hard person to pin down, let alone out think.

He had been so wrong those few months back, thinking she wouldn't survive the day. The fact was, without her, he didn't think he nor Harvey would have come this far. And today, if Harry had not snook in, somehow disabled a world class assassin called Victor Zsasz and absconded away with an unconscious Barbara, his fiance would be dead too. Still, in the end, not knowing Barbara had been saved, him and Harvey had folded and here they were. Drinking their sorrows away.

"You know Harry, I never did say thank you for getting Barbara out of there... So, thank you."

Harry picked up her tumbler, shaking it side to side dismissively, pointer finger aimed at him, amber liquid nearly spilling as her nose scrunched up. It was a tick of hers, one he had picked up. It showed she was uncomfortable, not confused as he had first put it down too. She didn't do well with compliments.

"Don't mention it. Really. Don't. To anyone. I have a hard, cold arse reputation to hold up."

Harvey laughed as he downed his own drink.

"You ain't fooling anyone kid. The whole precinct, nay! The whole of Gotham knows you're a bleeding heart. You have that shit printed on your forehead."

Harry chuckled, taking a sip of her drink. However, her laughter died down and she turned a serious eye to Gordon. Too old eyes in a too young skull.

"Perhaps, though, next time, when dealing with a man who has spies and fingers in all pies, instead of putting your misses on public transport in a filled bus depot, hire a non-dispute car, trash the plates, fill the fucker up, chuck her bloody phone away and get her to drive until she can't anymore... And then drive some more."

Gordon winced as he downed the rest of his drink before filling it back up. Harvey slid deeper into his seat, obviously cooling down from what happened an hour prior. Good. They all needed to unwind a bit. Hence the copious amount of alcohol they were consuming. No better tool to use to loosen up a bit then his dear old friend, Jack Daniels.

"You know Jim, Harry has a point. This whole ordeal with Falcone, Fish, the mayor, Maroni isn't over. I have a terrible feeling it's just beginning. Barbara still might have to leave. This city... What we have to do, it ain't safe to have loved ones around."

Jim humourlessly chuckled, mockingly raising his glass up in a fake cheers.

"You can say that again. I'm going to talk to her when I get back. You might want to do the same Harry."

Harry looked confused, glass comically frozen halfway to her mouth.

"What? Talk to Barbara? I only saw her once and that was when I was fireman carrying her out of Falcone's mansion. No, telling her we fucked up and she might want to get out of dodge goes to you."

Jim shook his head, smiling. While Harry was brilliant, she was equally oblivious in some instances.

"No, not Barbara. You're loved ones. If they came with you, you might want to send them back out again. I would say you go too, but I already now what you would say."

Harry laughed loudly, nearly spilling her drink.

"Damn right you do, this is only just getting fun! And no. There's no one to squirrel away for me."

Jim cocked his head, frowning.

"Parents?"

Harry mindlessly shook her head.

"Dead since I was one."

"Guardians?"

"Dead too."

"Siblings?"

"Only child."

"Friends?"

"The few left? Back in England."

Worryingly, he sees Harvey shoot a pitying look to Harry. Luckily, Harry didn't notice it, Jim was sure she was the type of person not to let things like that pass. Proud some people would say, Jim would call it self-sufficient and independent.

"You... You came to America, to Gotham of all places, all by yourself?"

Harry's answering smile was as sharp as a blade. Shiny like it too.

"Yup."

Now it was Jim's turn to shake his head, staring down into his drink.

"Not even a boyfriend?"

Harry's responding laughter lacked all warmth, all humor. Hallow. Echoing. A noise that ground against bone and marrow.

"What? And have some psycho come along and kidnap him to use against me like Barbara was used against you? Fuck no. I made a promise to myself not to date, love or grow overly attached to anyone until I stop intentionally and unintentionally pissing off people with armies."

Harvey spluttered a chuckle, wet and trickling, using the back of his hand to wipe the whiskey of his bearded chin.

"You've gone against more than one guy with an 'army'?"

Harry gave a sly grin, tipping her glass at Harvey in salute.

"You have no idea mate."

Finally, Harvey was the last one to shake his head, loose hair tickling his neck, chuckling to himself.

"Sometimes kid, I'm happy you're in our corner. You scare the shit out of me."

"Fuck you Bullock, little kittens send you running."

"That was one time and I swore I thought the box was a bomb! It was in the middle of an alleyway, the meows sounded like the tick-tock of a clock and there was a note-"

By now, Jim had stopped truly paying attention to the serious talk that had turned to worry easing, friendly banter. He wasn't stupid. What Harry had said was true and it had been playing on his mind for a while now. A little voice in the base of his skull that jabbed and taunted him.

Because of him, Barbara would always be a target, always be in danger and Harry... Harry wouldn't always be there to back him up and save both his and Harvey's skin when it counted. In fact, thinking of Harry putting herself in intentional danger for himself... Again, well, it didn't sit right with him at all. As bad as it sounded, he would have rather Harry hightailed it out of Falcone's mansion, leaving him, Harvey and Barbara behind if it meant saving herself.

Perhaps that made him a terrible person, but it was the truth. Harvey was right. The girl was a beacon of light. Good. Honest. A hero who expected no thanks or acknowledgment with a dangerous streak of violence and risking her life for others. He suspected she was a bit of an adrenaline junky too, a risk taker. And that made him worried sick. She shouldn't be in a place like Gotham. It was only a matter of time before she tried to help the wrong person, or that adrenaline hunting and risk taking led her down a road she couldn't back out from. Who was he kidding? They were all on a road they couldn't leave now. All because he had decided to go out in a blaze of glory.

On the other hand, watching Harry laugh boisterously at something Harvey had said, he knew she had been wrong herself. Yes, she meant what she had said, she didn't want to form relationships with people, but here, looking at her, thinking over the past months, he thought it was all too late for that. She just hadn't accepted that fact yet.

She had risked her neck for Harvey today, for him, for Barbara, a woman she didn't know but only knew she meant something to Jim. He saw the way she joked, laughed and chatted to Nygma of all people, spending most of her free office hours down in the morgue with him instead of eating and drinking with the rest of the detectives in the makeshift lobby kitchen. How she would go out of her way and stop at ice cream shops, the real Italian ones, on the way home to pick up some exotic flavors for a person she had nicknamed 'Oz' fondly. The girl was attached, even if she denied it. As she waggled the bottle of Jack Daniels at Jim, smile beaming, he only hoped he was one of those attachments. Harvey had a nasty habit of always being right. It was best to have Harry in their corner... Not opposing them. That way she would be close and safe. Or as safe as he could make sure she was.

* * *

 **Oswald Cobblepot- Penguin**  
 **Stone Fortress.**

"You're leaving."

It wasn't a question. Simply a statement. Still, the blank tone Harry had used stung a little. Oswald hadn't thought she would be back yet. She normally never came home until well into the night, sometimes early morning, doing her job she had simply told him was 'free-lance'. He hadn't cared to push further. He had hoped to make his getaway while she was gone. It was cowardly, unpolite, but for the best. If he had to face her, speak to her, in the end, he didn't know whether he could gather the strength to actually leave. He had stayed in her house longer than he had planned to. Three weeks instead of the original two days.

Her company was... Refreshing. An odd blend, like those herbal tea's you bought from shady market shops that could possibly contain hallucinogenic shrooms. She had a way about her. One where she weaseled into someone without even trying or knowing she had done anything of the such. An easy, friendly manner, a soft tide that carried you off and deeper into the current that was her, but with a sharp bite, something darker, deeper... Dangerous lurking just out of sight, concealed, the great white hiding in the ocean. Contradictory. That was what Harry Potter was. A walking, talking, smiling contradiction to life itself. it only made you want to figure her out more, to get carried further away from shore, deeper into the current, not caring if you drowned.

The house was simple, a cottage tucked away in the woods, little, bathed in spring colors, warm, bright, welcoming with an old world grace and beauty to its curves and structure. But the walls were a little too high. Too thick. Too strong. The roof slanting at a sharper angle. The doors looming holes and corridors twisting and weaving like a maze that dragged you further in and closer to the scorching hearth that looked eerily like a gate to hell. The house was... Just like its owner.

Here, in this cottage, enveloped away from the real world and the pain it brought, Oswald had been oddly happy. Too happy. When he was this happy, normally things went horribly wrong. Hence, partially, why he needed to leave. Because, in the end, the real world was still out there and it would eventually catch up, knock on Harry's door and she would be placed in the firing line. Even in the short amount of time he had known her, he didn't want that to happen.

"I have to... I have things I need to finish."

Harry sighed, strolling over to the bedside table to place the two cups of tea down before she flopped onto the guest bed, the one he had been using.

"It's dangerous to go back, isn't it? The state I found you in, the little you have said... Oz, why go back and risk your own life?"

Slowly, Oswald sat next to her, staring at the pale blue wall. Harry liked her blues. Her reds and golds too, though, she kept those colors hidden. Sometimes he wondered what she would look like bathed in gold chains and red silk. Shaking his head, he tried to explain the best he could without giving too much away. Knowledge was power, after all, and the less Harry knew, the less likely someone was to come and try and extract that knowledge from her.

"There's... There's a woman I need to go back for. Gotham's my home. I can't run away. I won't run away."

Well, his mother was classed as a woman, so he had not entirely lied. Harry humphed, crossing her arms, peering at him before she sagged in acceptance.

"It's always love, isn't it?... Fucks us all over in the end. Fine, if this woman means so much. But I swear, she gets you killed or you die trying to protect her, I'll hunt her down myself and the end result won't be pretty."

Oswald chuckled. While Harry did have a goodness to her, there was something completely other hidden deep within it. A fusion reactor readying to go supernova. He caught her sometimes, that dark glint in her eye when she thought no one was looking, the invisible smile when the news spoke of explosions, crazy assailants, and death. How she spoke sometimes, so factually, detached, sometimes humorous over the disturbing things Gotham's nightly news show sprouted out. Perhaps that was why he felt an infinity with her. She had the same dark streak he did underneath the polished surface. In the short time he had known this odd, brilliant woman, he had learned not to put anything past her. She had sharp claws and sharper teeth underneath all that fluff and shine.

"I won't be gone forever. After all, I know where you live."

Harry laughed, the tension breaking. However, Oswald wasn't fully joking. He did know where she lived. He would keep an eye out from now on. He had grown... Protective of her, almost greedy. She was his first... Friend. The first person who didn't want anything in return. The first person he had come across that he truly believed could understand his needs, what he wanted to do.

She listened to the little he told her, inconsequential things, and when he didn't answer an idle question, instead of pushing on it, she would ease back, change course. But she listened. That was more than most did. Her hand landed on his shoulder with a slight pat.

"I'll miss you, you now. All the late night chats. The ice cream. It will be... Lonely without you here, filling up the silence. But, if you have to go, you have to go. Just don't disappear on me will you?"

Uncharacteristically, he reached up, clasping the hand on his shoulder and squeezing.

"You couldn't get rid of me even if you tried."

Then, right there, he was being honest. Harry squeezed back and reluctantly, on a whim, Oswald pulled away, scrambling into his trouser pockets for a pen and a piece of paper, scribbling down an address on his knee, shakily handing it to Harry.

"And don't you go disappearing either. You have that odd vanishing act down to a T. I don't think I've actually seen you use a door, you're just... There. If you ever need me, or have more ice cream than you can eat, you can find me here."

He had never given anybody, let alone a woman, his address before. Where his mother lived. But then again, he had met no one he had trusted enough to do so. Oddly, he thought his mother would like Harry. Really like her. He thought when she smiled at someone, they couldn't not like her. Her currents were strong, golf stream strong. She had a magnetizing way about her, drawing people in like broken paperclips, vibrating with an exhilarating energy. Harry took the paper, rubbing her thumb over the indented writing, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"See, this is why I'm happy I'm alone. No soft spots to hit if someone wants to take a swing. Look, if things get too hot in Gotham, if this woman is in danger and you're out of moves, bring her here. I'll protect her while you deal with... Whoever it was that left you half-drowned on the side of the road."

Oswald coughed into his fist, standing up. It was a tempting offer, to snatch up his mother, bring her here, with him and Harry. They would be quite happy he thought, the three of them. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. He had loose ends that needed knotting around people's necks. The hangman was coming.

"Thank you, Harry... Thank you for everything."

He went to walk away but was stopped by being turned and then enveloped into arms.

"Be careful. Whatever it is you need to do, do it, don't hesitate. Hit hard, fast and get it over with. I'll miss you... Now get the fuck out of here you bloody wanker. You're boring me."

He barely had time to enjoy the hug before she pushed him away. He knew what she was doing. It wasn't hard to know it was difficult to get close to a woman like Harry, especially, Harry, and when you did, you should count your lucky stars. He sure did. He also knew she hid her softness, that darkness too, that ever-present goodness and hearty emotion behind barbed insults and an impenetrable fortress of sarcasm.

"I'll see you soon."

Then he was walking out, gently closing the door behind him with a soft click. The problem with Harry was she did really think she was better off alone, she liked it, reveled in it, that bachelorhood and there were very few exceptions to things and people she let disturb that peace.

For some strange, unfathomable reason beyond what he was capable of figuring out, he seemed to be one of those exceptions at the present time.

After Falcone. After Fish. After the street and gang wars, he planned to stay that way permanently. He always got what he wanted in the end. Harry would be no exception.

* * *

 **Jerome Valeska- The Joker**  
 **Never Forgotten.**

"Have you thought of a name yet?"

Jerome's face cracked into a grin, slowly, slithering, slick. He slammed the leather trunk shut, having finished packing up backstage, surrounded by tall crates, stage lights and racks upon racks of costumes, he was ready to move along with the circus. This town was drab, old-fashioned, out in the sticks and bore him like no other. Where was all the color? The pizzas? The zing!

Slowly turning, excited to hear that voice once more, he didn't bother to change his face to a more pleasant facade. Either she ran off like all the other normality ridden cretins did and that was that, or she would do what he thought she would, stick around and let loose.

Somehow, someway, he felt something, that darkness inside him, connect with the well hidden one she kept inside her. Kindred souls. He knew she had it in her. Chained. Locked down, but there all the same. Someone just had to come along with the right key.

"Back so soon? What? Miss me that much?"

Little red scoffed, a green bottle held tightly in her hand, swinging at her side. At this angle, with the high back cut screens casting looming shadows that sliced through the bright light of the stage lights, she was half bathed in light, bright, white, bleached of all life and color. _Disgusting_. However, he was more interested in the other half, the one swathed in shadow, dark, tantalizing, just a hint of features and colors peering through the thick darkness. Green eye shimmering in the gloom.

Half in, half out. Jerome knew that feeling all to well, the internal war. Yet, unlike the girl in front of him, he had obviously given up that battle a long, long time ago. It was about time she gave up the good fight too. She'd fail in the end. People like them always did.

"Don't flatter yourself. I was in the area and thought about visiting Terry but he's still packing and dithering around. You'll make do in keeping me entertained."

Jerome laughed, jagged rock faces hanging over a crashing sea, watching as she strolled forward, just past him, to a bench, sliding into the seat. Nonetheless, the lights still sliced her in half, saying more about her than her own lips and tongue ever would. Her steps were that of a dancers, light and on the toes, however, the power of her thighs, the way her muscles rippled and contracted, spoke more of a fighter than an entertainer. _Lovely._ He knew she was more than she seemed. Just like him. Wolves wearing sheep masks.

"And what's in it for me?"

Red lifted her hand, waggled the bottle of gin and grinned. In the lighting, he could only see half of it, teeth sharp, shiny, blindingly white, dimple prominent. The teeth of a killer. The other half was fogged, gone, erased by the shadows. He had never seen a more beautiful smile before.

"Free drink and my sparkling wit."

Jerome danced around her, sidestepping, keeping his eyes locked on hers, the trunk and his 'job' pushed back, forgotten. How could he focus on playing the shy, loving son when something so interesting was presented to him? He couldn't. He wouldn't. Jerome loved games and this was a high-stakes roller if he ever did see one. One wrong move and either she would be dead, or more likely by the dangerous twists and curves of her body bellying that of a seasoned warrior, he would be.

"You don't seem the type to willingly set out to find company."

Red rose a brow, the split one, shattered in half by a scar just like she was between the light and darkness. Half and Half. Together, they could make a whole. He just needed to... Show her. Prod her right. Lead her to the same conclusion he had come to. Through the shadow, he thought he could see her lick her lips, the corner of her mouth turning up to join the other side.

"And you don't seem the type to put up with unwanted company either. Now, are you going to sit or not?"

Jerome paused, dramatically stroking his chin before smiling, clicking his fingers. He wouldn't let her divert the course. She obviously knew what he was doing, he knew what she was doing, they both knew the other knew, what was the point in beating around the bush any longer? None. After all, Jerome had never been patient.

"First, some questions-"

"I'm not here for an interrogation Jerome."

Jerome ignored her, pacing in front of her like a caged tiger, strides long and sleek. However, this time he wasn't eyeing up the juicy meat, he was eyeing up the new tiger placed along side him in his cage. Friend or foe? Friend he hoped. They could have such glorious games.

"Why do you hunch your shoulders, divert your eyes, play the innocent? I saw your face when you hit the escape artist... You wanted to do more, much more... But then Bootsy came, totally ruining the moment and you painted that mask back onto your face. Why hold yourself back?"

She hit back even harder, standing up, using her free hand to poke at his recently bruised cheek. The sharp, quick sting was nothing but a nip, but it was a nip indeed. Just as he was testing her, pushing boundaries, observing, she was doing exactly the same. Jerome had never really bothered with other people's perception of him unless it played into the games he ran, but hers... With her, he really did wonder what she saw. A reflection? An equal? A friend? Someone that could finally understand? Did she see the same he saw when he looked at her?

"Why do you act as a punching bag when it's obvious you can defend yourself? It looks like I'm not the only one holding back."

Jerome was practically bouncing on his feet, laughter ringing out.

"See, I knew you knew! You feel it too, don't you? That small dark, dank thing inside you reflected back in me, calling out for the other one. Me and you, we're a lot alike. We play our part, we act, we put on a show like a caged tiger, entertaining all the sheep and deer and 'ittle bunny rabbits that come to watch, them none the wiser that in the end, the tiger will break free and then rip them apart tendon... By muscle... By bone. Yum!"

Red frowned as Jerome snapped his jaw as if biting the air, eyes sparking like emerald lightning, but that didn't deter him. That was the clincher. There was no denying it now. There was the fire she kept trying to put out, right there, in her eyes, alive and well and climbing to an inferno.

"You do know in the end, the tiger normally gets shot by animal control, don't you? I don't particularly fancy that fate."

Jerome shrugged, unable to keep still, circling Harry as she began to circle him, like two predators about to either dig their bladed teeth into each other's necks or play, roaming, causing havoc wherever they hunted. Perhaps both. Jerome wanted both. He just needed to convince her. Although, with her stance, that flame flickering in her eye, he doubted it would take much convincing. He knew she wanted the same, the fight, the blood, the acceptance of finally finding someone who could keep up with you and your games. He just needed to get her to see that.

"Yes, well, packs are always stronger than the lone animal. Think of the fun we could have!"

Harry laughed, the fingers of her right-hand clenching as if fighting back the urge to grab something. Secrets, surprises, she was full of them.

"Is this a business deal? You scratch my back, I scratch yours? Because from where I'm standing, you get more out of this deal than I do."

Jerome violently shook his head

"No, no, no! This is nature! Predators stay with predators, they don't sleep next to the pray. News flash, it's time to take the mask off!"

Red's lip raised over her teeth, a warning. Jerome could only giggle. As a boy, when the circus used to use animals, he was always the boy found near the lion, hand in its open maw, daring it to bite, the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. He had earned several broken bones when his mother found out about that past time. Luckily, she still didn't know about the fires.

"You're right about one thing. I do see a little of myself in you... It's the only reason I'm not putting you down like a dog right now."

Jerome slightly bent in half, edging closer, still circling. Twirling. Whirling. Dancing. She met him step for step and it nearly made him giddy.

"But you want to, you really want to. I can see it. I've done nothing to you but speak, you just don't like the truth of the words. You take risks, don't you? Just to get away from the numbness pretending gives you. To escape the character you paint on each morning to please the people around you. You push people away, don't you? Keep them at arm's length? Just so they never spot the darkness inside, because you know they would go running, hiding, screaming to the skies. But I'm not, I'm still here, I'm waiting... Wanting you to let go. That's why you came back. Why you're still here. Why you won't really kill me. You see through me because I can see through you just as easy. Different sides of the same coin, you and me. The snarling, salivating heads to my hilarious tails."

Red flicked out a knife faster than he could blink, pushing him against the tall trunks, The stage cut out behind them wobbling, threatening to fall, blade digging into his throat. At this new angle, only a quarter of her was in the light. Nearly there. Just. One. More. Push.

"Be careful of what you say next Jerome."

His eyes widened in excitement, eyebrows jumping up his forehead, grin so wide it hurt the taut muscles of his face. It was all too splendid, their dance, him and her.

"Do it. Go on. Hahahaa. You kill me and you'll kill the only person who will ever understand. You'll kill the only person who will ever fully accept you for who and what you are. It's time to stop acting... For both of us. Why. Did. You. Come. Back?"

Her gaze drew hard, steely, cutting, her curls bouncing as she shook her head.

"Because... Fucking hell, because everyone's been on my back about being alone and it got me thinking. When I tried to picture myself not alone, you were the first person that popped into mind... But that can change real fast if you try pushing me anymore than you already have. Why were you 'hiding' Jerome? Why act? If you really think this way, why not break that cage yourself?"

His voice dropped, tongue flicking out over his lips. This close, he could taste her breath on his skin. Sweet, candyfloss with a harsh bite at the end, stinging, like bleach. Wonderful.

"Same reason you've done exactly the same. Alone it's enjoyable. It would happen in the end, just like you know you'll crack eventually. I can already see the splinters in your eyes. Do you see them when you look in the mirror? But together? With someone who keeps up step for step, at your side? Well, that's a whole amusement park of unadulterated fun."

He held his hands up as if making an explosion on the last word. Laughing hysterically. Still grinning, he dug his neck in deeper into the dagger, lips nearly brushing Harry's when he spoke. He wondered what he tasted like on her own tongue.

"I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have at my side. When I think of not being alone, I think of you too. You smell like magic and you have hellfire in your eyes. Think of the pretty fireworks we could make! You kill me, you're still giving into the beast inside you. You don't kill me, you know I'm right and I'm the only one out here like you. Either way, I win. You win. We win."

The dagger pressed in deeper, a trickle of blood going down his neck, collar soaking in the red like a bright ink spill. He could see the way Red's eyes track it, almost entranced by its movement. The same way he would be if he was in her place. Take it. Take it. Take it. He didn't know what he would do if she didn't.

As much as he had told her about her needing him, he needed her just as much. A tails couldn't be a tails without a heads. A joker was only really spectacular with an ace at its side. The fuse to his firework. The tune to his jack in the box. The horse to his carousel. He could see it all, replaying on his closed eyelids every time he blinked. Together, they could make such beautiful chaos. Then, the dagger was gone and she was snarling in his face.

"I'm nothing like you."

He laughed once more as she pressed further into the darkness with him. There was only a slither of light now, illuminating her scar and lone eye.

"Well, not entirely of course. But you can't deny we're two jigsaw pieces to the same puzzle. You fill in my missing blank and I fill in yours... Do you really want to be alone in this world?"

Because he didn't. Harry pulled back, glaring at him before popping the lid off the gin bottle, drinking heavily. Reluctantly, she answered, brokenly chuckling.

"No."

There it was. Now, in the corner, she was bathed in shadows, her true colors shining in the abyss. Jerome howled, nearly doubling over before prancing up to Harry, scooping her arm through his, tugging her along, further into the darkness. This was going to be spectacular. He just knew it. He would push Harry and she would keep him guessing, always on his toes. Perfect harmony.

"Now fair lady of the lake, how about a dance?"

And as he slipped around, slid his hand onto her hip and his hand onto hers, fingers weaving, twirling them both, hidden behind costume racks, trunks, enshrouded in shadows, Red finally laughed, joining his, the coloratura soprano to his dramatic Tenor as they danced in the dark.

Their opera would be heard for generations, across the ages, untouched by time and memory. Never forgotten.

* * *

So, should I carry on or leave it as a two shot? To be honest, I'm having real fun with this! **THE NEXT CHAPTER IS THE LETTER C** so, if you have any prompts,  one word and beginning with C, that you want to read, make sure to send them to me! Or I'll be using a word generator again and that makes me slightly depressed XD

 **THANK YOU** to all those who reviewed, this ones for you and I really do hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it up! Thank you to all those who followed and favourited, I hope you liked this chapter and I hope every is looking forward to the next.

 **AS ALWAYS PLEASE REVIEW!** Every review goes to a good cause, with your one review, you could allow a lonely muse to give a poor fanfic author some much needed inspiration ;). Until next time stay beautiful you wonderful readers!

~AlwaysEatTheRude21


	3. Chess & Corruption

**PART III**

 **C is for Chess and Corruption- A.K.A The three times Harry played people like they were her chess pieces on the board and became a little more corrupted, and the one time she threw away the board, games and corruption to save a life.**

 **Prompts accepted: carelessdodger- What about the word chess? like having Harry play people as if it was all a chess game to her! We all know harry loves wizarding chess XD ✓**

 **Annabelle-Dream: Corruption is my fave becuase it connects to: -the cops in gcpd ( eddy) -ballon-man's motivation ( Gordon's case) -Oswalds goal to take over gotham (steal/ bribe ext) -Jerome's team up with Harry ✓  
**

 **HOPE I'VE DONE YOUR PROMPTS JUSTICE!  
**

* * *

 **Oswald Cobblepot- Penguin  
The last laugh.  
**

Oswald Cobblepot stood before the sink, delving his hands into the suds and bubbles, plucking out a plate to wipe down with the sodden clothe in his hand. Given, thinking upon his return to Gotham and subsequent reclamation of his place in the underground hierarchy, he had not pictured being a dishwasher boy, but it was a start. A start close to Maroni, exactly where Falcone wanted him to be.

From his vantage point hovering over the sink, he could see the door to Maroni's restaurant, as well as the man himself, decked out in an ostentatious silver suit, silken shirt, hair slicked back, laughing with his inner circle. He had been there a week and was only just clueing into who would or wouldn't side with Maroni if a war broke out. Falcone was pressuring him, demanding answers he hadn't had the time to find yet and Maroni still didn't trust him enough to let those secrets out. He was balancing on a tightrope that one small gust of wind would knock him off from.

The jingle of the front door bell gave Oswald a moment of thought, pausing in his ridiculous task of cleaning the dishes. Hardly anyone came to the restaurant during daylight hours, but when they did, it usually involved business best dealt under the table. Interesting. Perhaps it was something he could feed along to Falcone to keep him quiet for another week. Plate and cloth still in hand, Oswald ventured close to the open door of the kitchen, just close enough to peer through, to catch a few words but hopefully not look like he was watching and eavesdropping.

"Ah, now, what can I do for a pretty woman like you?"

Oswald bent his head down, peering out from the corner of his eye... And nearly dropped his plate. Harry. However, she didn't look like she normally did, oh no. Gone were her tatty jeans, clunky, scuffed boots and beloved leather jacket, replaced by a velvet black dress that hugged her curves, heels on the end of long, long legs, hair brushed and styled into glistening curls that waterfall'd down her back... She was even wearing makeup, smoky and mysterious, something he hadn't seen for the three weeks he had been graced with her presence.

What the hell was she doing there? Harry went to answer Maroni, but her eyes wondered, landing on him, clearly visible through the class doors and windows that segregated the kitchen off. Oh, no...

"Oz?"

Oswald winced, fingers clenching harshly into the plate, nearly snapping the crockery in half. Shit. If Maroni figured out they knew each other... Or Oswald was fond of anyone, it could and definitely would be used later on when the real game began. Laughing, Oswald turned to face the little group in the restaurant, wiping at the plate faster. Maroni was watching him with a cocked head, a smirk tugging at his lips. That was never a good sign.

"Excuse me? Do we know each other?"

He prayed she got the hint. Fortunately, as if God himself had granted him a boon, realization trickled onto her face for a split second before she slid a mask of discontent and disgust on just in time for Maroni to glance her way. When she spoke, she snarled a bit, just a little.

"Sorry. I thought you were my dear friend. From all the way over there, the door hid what you call... A face. Now, please, Mr. Maroni, we have things we need to speak about, do we not?"

Maroni laughed heartily, turning away from Oswald, the barb thrown his way doing it's job to hide her previously affectionate tone. It had worked. That was almost enough to wipe clean the sting her fake words had given him. Huddling further in on himself, Oswald pivoted just a fraction, just enough to look uninterested but so he could still hear.

"Now Lovely, it was your uncle you were looking for, correct? Here, take a seat. Penguin! Fetch us some wine and prepare a meal!"

Oswald's nostrils flared at the nickname, the first time Harry would have heard him referred to the insufferable bird. From his angle, he couldn't see their faces, but he could hear Harry's answering indulgent chuckle.

"Oh, I couldn't impose! Really, if you just-"

"Don't be silly. No one with a face like your's could impose on any man. Take a seat, have some wine and we will talk."

Oswald missed some of their conversation as he put the plate and cloth down, hobbling over behind the bar to the wine wrack, plucking out a nice vintage, old but not too old. Straightening out, Oswald had to temper his steps into an acceptable speed. He was eager to hear what Harry had to say.

From what he understood, from what she had told him from her own lips, she had no family left. All dead, hence why she was alone in the middle of a place like Gotham. She hadn't gone into further detail, but surely, as little as she did let pass, she would have mentioned an uncle of all things?

Surely he would have seen this uncle visit in the three weeks he had stayed with Harry? Had she lied to him the entire time? That realization of that possibility hurt more than Oswald thought acceptable for someone he had known for such a short amount of time. Yet, hurt like a bitch it did.

"Well, you see, my uncle Rabastan Lestrange is only in Gotham for a short visit. He doesn't know me and my mother relocated here and I know he would love to see her, but I simply can't find him. They were really close growing up. French families are raised that way. I thought it would be a lovely surprise if I and my mother visited him tonight, you know, a little party before he had to go... Back home."

Oswald popped the cork off the bottle, not daring to look at Harry as he leaned over the table to pour their wine. While this was slightly embarrassing, showing Harry he was nothing more than a waiter currently, he was more intrigued by the absolute lies pouring from her mouth as easy as honey from a beehive. Sweet and tempting. He knew for a fact her mother was dead. Therefore, everything else must be a lie. What was she playing at?

"Oh, I understand that completely. However, Mr. Lestrange came to me in good confidence, wanting a quiet get away from his business back in England, no interruptions he said. What kind of... City trip advisor would I be if I gave his location out?"

Oswald pulled back, slowly walking back to the kitchen to pick up some food for the two. He could hear Harry forlornly sigh.

"You would keep family apart? Well, I understand. Business is Business. I haven't seen my uncle in five years... What's one more? Thank you for you time, I'm sorry If I've been an inconvenience."

Oswald could hear the scrape of her pushing her chair back, two retreating steps before Maroni folded under her saddened, honey words. Harry... Harry could play the game of verbal chess just as easy as he could. He was almost proud... He needed someone like her at his side for when he took over.

"Here, sit back down. I'll give you the address. It isn't right to keep such a sweet girl sad. Penguin! Hurry up with the food!"

Before he could dash back off into the kitchen, he heard Harry sit back down.

"Oh thank you! I say, what a lovely man! Mr. Maroni-"

"Sal. You can call me Sal."

He pictured Harry blushing, fluttering her eyelashes, demure and graceful. Never had he wanted to blast Maroni's head off his shoulders with a point blank shotgun as much as he did then.

"Sal, tell me about yourself. I have a feeling we're going to be great... Friends."

Unluckily, Oswald didn't hear the rest of the conversation, nor see Harry again, not until his shift was over and he was walking out the door, Maroni following him, giving him little errands to do before he could head home. He just had to play at this a little longer... Then, he would be taking orders from no one.

As he stepped into the street, turning to wish Maroni a good after noon, a body slammed into his, a hand sliding into his own palm as they bumped and tossled, something rectangular and thin, folded, pressing into the soft flesh. Before he could blink, a whispered voice was brushing against the shell of his ear. Warm and dulcet.

"Here's a list of weaknesses I picked up. Names of the people that I think will side against him if given the right motive. I'll also have the GCPD put heat on him, it should constrict his movements. Hide it. Read it when you get home."

Then Harry was pulling away, a nervous chuckle ringing out as she brushed at his shoulders for imaginary lint, obscuring the view of his hand dipping into his pocket, hiding the note.

"I am so sorry! I am incredibly clumsy! I'm sorry to impose on you once more Mr. Maro-... Sal, but do you perhaps know where I can hire a cab? I've been trying to find a phone booth or a taxi rink but I've had no such luck."

Maroni gave her a soft smile, none the wiser to their little exchange.

"You've been looking for an hour? Dear girl! You should have come straight back here, I would have had one of my drivers-"

Harry cut him off, waving her hand in the air, flagging down the car that had just turned the corner.

"Oh, talk of the devil and he shall arrive... Here's one! Once again, I'm sorry for bothering you so much, but I have to head home. My mother will be delighted in knowing I know where my uncle is and I've wasted enough time already. We have to plan the party you see."

The cab pulled up to the sidewalk, Harry not wasting any time in opening the door and clambering in. Before she could shut the door, Maroni's meaty fist held it open.

"It's been a pleasure, Miss. Potter. How about dinner, 9 o'clock, tomorrow?"

Harry beamed.

"Oh, I'm not sure about then. My mother's art gallery is running a Desmond Van-Gaard exhibition. I promised I would attend. However, when I see my... Uncle, I'll pass along a time I'm free... I'm sure this won't be the last we see of each other, we have a lot to talk about."

The last of her words were aimed at Oswald, he knew, especially by the way her eyes flickered and stuck to him at the end like arrows into a target board. He got her message loud and clear. Visit her and soon. They did have a lot to talk about. Especially over imaginary uncles, art galleries, exactly how she had got the information she had handed him and dead mothers. Perhaps he should have pushed harder in finding out exactly what sort of 'free-lance' work she had. He had a feeling it wasn't exactly legal. Or if it was, not the type people, organizations and institutes held their hands up and admitted to... _She was perfect. Simply perfect._

The slam of the car door rang out and then she was off with a fair well to Maroni. Maroni, before Oswald could make his getaway, clapped him on the back, a smarmy smile cracking across his face.

"Now isn't she a beauty? Of course, way out of your league, but something you can fantasize about! Oh come on Penguin, laugh a little. You're always so glum. What? Saving it for the last laugh?"

It was meant as a jab, he knew, but in the end, it was Oswald who was having the last laugh. Especially after the news of the gruesome explosion of a police officer, a corrupt one who had been Maroni's own little inside rat, spread out. He lost police informants, them thinking he would do the same to them, fled the sinking ship.

He also was being pressed by the police from all corners, the GCPD being less giving in what they allowed him to do. At the end of the night, where if Harry had not turned up, it would have taken him months to garner the information and pressure on Maroni's resources she had. Because of one meal and Maroni's love of a pretty face, Oswald knew Maroni's weakness, the henchmen to get rid off or whisper to, the police were cracking down on him and Rabastan Lestrange laid in a pile of ash floating down Gotham River.

The last laugh indeed. **  
**

* * *

 **Edward Nygma- The Riddler**  
 **Love.**

Edward could do nothing as he heard the door to the M.E lab turn and swing open, Harry strolling in, holding a cardboard tray of coffee, a big smile on her face as she looked towards Edward. By her third step, she faltered as she saw the huge trunks placed on the metal slab, frowning slightly. _Oh, God. Not her. Anybody but her._

"I thought I saw your light on! A bit early for you to be, isn't it? I brought us some coffee. Ned... Ned, what are in those trunks?"

Edward felt like slapping his forehead, banging his head against the wall until he blacked out. He had thought to come in early, or extremely late in a certain perspective, that way no one would dare find him in here, not that they normally did during the day anyway. Hence why he hadn't locked the door. He thought the place would be deserted.

But here Harry was, staring at the trunks containing Dougherty's body parts. He tried to smile, laughing loudly, brokenly as he scratched the back of his head with latex gloves.

"Nothing. Some evidence found at-"

Harry stormed forward, placing the coffee tray on the desk beside the door, not looking where she placed it as one cup slid and fell over, coffee spilling onto the floor and M.E reports, not that she paid any mind to it.

"Ned... Ned, what have you done?"

His eyes glanced down to the sparkling bonesaw beside him... But he couldn't. He couldn't kill Harry. Oh, God. She was going to look in, find the person he had murdered and arrest him. He should have locked the door. He should have been smarter but the thrill of perhaps being caught, of doing it right under their noses and them being too blind to see had been a temptation he couldn't say no to.

Edward could hardly breathe, let alone stop her as she reached over, hands strangely stable and flicked up the gold latches, pulling the lid up and over, bearing his sins to the fluorescent lighting buzzing above their heads.

There was Dougherty. Still partially dressed, limbs crammed and packed in odd angles, blood seeping and pooling in the bottom of the trunk, congealing. He heard more than saw as Harry dragged in a ragged breath, watching with frantic eyes as she braced her hands on the table edge, elbows locked, head swinging down, chin nearly touching her chest.

"You don't understand Harry! I had to... I had to! He was hurting Kristen! I may not love her... But he was a monster! He abused her! Hurt her! I had to do something. What if it was you? What if he took a fancy to you and then started hurting you instead? I didn't mean to kill him... I only meant to frighten him, but then he was coming at me and the knife was in my hand and there was lightening and he was coming at me and -"

The loud bang of a fist smashing into the metal tray broke him out of his trance with a jump as Harry turned her furious gaze towards him.

"I don't fucking care why! You brought him here... Are you a bloody idiot Nygma? No, I know you aren't! You brought him to a police station that within the hour is going to be swarming with the best cops, Detectives and commissioner in this state. What were you going to do? Hmmm? Chop him up, add some sulfuric acid, melt him away and carry the sludge out?... Jesus fucking Christ, you were, weren't you?"

Harry stumbled away from the table, both hands going up to her forehead as she pushed her busterious hair out of her face, bun coming unloose, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. Edward Nygma, for once in his life, was confused. He had murdered someone, a fellow police officor... And she was worried how he was going to dispose of the body?

"I... I killed a man Harry."

He was not expecting her laughter, nor how she pointed to his oozing crime.

"I can bloody well see that, can't I?"

That was when she began to pace, rubbing at her suddenly tired eyes.

"We need to come up with a plan and a good one in the next ten minutes."

Edward looked around him, quickly checking his pulse before he gave it a sharp pinch. No... He wasn't dreaming and even though his heart rate was alleviated, it was in the appropriate parameters... Given the circumstances.

"You're not going to arrest me?"

Harry froze perfectly in her stride, eyeing him up and down, a sad smile tickling the corner of her lips.

"I should... I really should. But no. I'm not. You're my friend Ned. One of the only ones I have left. I'm not going to let you rot in prison over scum like this fucker. To me, you don't turn on your friends... Even if they pull dumb shit like this. Now, be quiet while I think of a way to get you the hell out of this or we're going to be sharing a jail cell and you look like a snorer... I always attract the crazy ones, don't I?"

She laughed once more, self-derogatorily and went back to her pacing. Edward, however, was at a loss for words. He had killed a man... Enjoyed it.. And here Harry was, helping him cover it up. How did he deserve someone like that? He didn't want to question that, deciding not to tempt his luck. She was here. She was helping. She was still standing at his side despite her gruesome discovery. That was more than he could ask for and all that mattered.

"I've got it!... Two birds with one stone... Pass me the bone saw."

Harry marched back to the table, slipping on some latex gloves before pulling out half a leg, dropping it onto the dissection table, holding her hand out, ready for him to pass her the very same saw he had, for but just a moment, thought of killing her with.

"A bone saw... Harry?"

Even as he asked, his body was in movement, handing the tool over, watching as she grasped the limb firmly before she began sawing at the straight line he had dessected with long, jagged, overlaying movements, cutting off chunks instead of slices.

"Harry, what are you doing?!"

Harry sighed deeply, as if he was hastling her or interrupting a master peice, her eyes flicking to the ticking clock above the door before landing back on him.

"What? The lines are too straight. No one's going to believe he died in an explosion if we leave it like this. Are you going to just stand there and watch or help me save your arse from prison bars?"

This was obviously not her first cover up. Not by a long shot. Suddenly, Edward sort of understood what the 'free-lance enforcer' meant. In a way, it was a nice way of saying covert operative. Operative of what? Edward didn't know but he doubted it was anything smiled upon. Steeling his spine, he straightened up, nodding.

"What do you need me to do?"

Harry chuckled as she pushed one limb over to the side, reaching into the trunk to pluck out another, sending him a grin over her shoulder as it seemed she knew he finally knew what she really was. Who she really was.

"We need a clean uniform, flammable wire, after I'm done here, you need to stitch him back together with loose stitching that will come apart easily and degrade in the fire, leaving no trace back... Dissolvable is best, a bomb and trigger... I'm guessing you know how to make that? You're the science-y one."

In her speach, she had stopped sawing, choosing to look towards him dead on instead. He rapidly blinked. What the hell was Harry planning? He wasn't too sure he really wanted to know, but the wave of thrilling excitement that crashed through him, singing in his gut, told him he liked it. _He really liked it._

"I know how to make a chemical explosion... If that will work?"

Harry grinned as she resumed her sawing.

"Even better. The chemicals should burn off anything we miss. Now, lets get this done, we have... 43 minutes before the normal early birds come. Jim and Bullock should be first, try and walk in with them. Oh, and when I say 'There's no cream in my doughnut' press the trigger."

Exactly 35 minutes later, Edward was back outside the precinct, heading into work for the 'first' time that day. Or, hopefully, if all went well, it would seem like that was the case. Twitchy, he reached into his trouser pocket, running his fingers of the little flip switch Harry had half melded together from tools from the M.E lab. Just as Harry had predicted, Jim and Bullock were just a few steps a head of him, strolling up the stairs to the main entrance.

As what Harry had told him to do, he jogged up to them, smiling. Bolluck gave him a weary glance, but no questions came. Good. He wasn't sure if he could answer them right then. Harry would be there soon, entering a minute short of them, just like they had planned. Walking into the lobby, Edward swallowed, fearful, as the seconds passed by before Gordon or Bolluck noticed. Would they buy it? Would the trigger go off?

"Holy shit! Dougherty!"

Thankfully, Edwards sigh of relief could be mistaken as a shocked intack of breath. After all, who would not be shocked by the police officer, seemingly alive, heavy uniform, boots, cap and bomber jacket hiding his stitches, ducktaped to a chair, head lolling on his chest, bruises painted on his face from the morgue make-up, fresh 'borrowed' blood trickling down from a supposed 'head wound' with a bomb strapped to his chest front and centre of the lobby?

Just as Bullock shouted, both him and Jim about to run to the already rotting body, the click of the revolving doors rang out and Harry strolled in, big pink box of doughnuts in her hand, a bite was already taken out of one. Edwards hand clenched on the trigger.

"Ahhh, dammit. There's no cream in my doughnut."

And just like that, he flicked the switch and the explosion, while big enough to rip the body apart, it was not big enough to reach them at the very end of the lobby. However, it did burn their eyes with the flash, scorch the desks and flip the chairs, even knocking Jim and Harry off their feet, those being the smaller of the quartet.

"Fucking hell, what was that?!"

Once again, his twitchy, anxious behavior could be put down to what he had saw, but Harry... he knew Harry wasn't shocked. This was mostly her plan with a few inputs from him. This came all too easy to her for her to be a simple 'detective'. Jim scrambled up, barely missing the foot he nearly trood on to stand.

"Who the hell would do something like this? Bolluck, call the commisioner and get a team in here!"

with a muted 'im already on it' from Bullock, Jim went over to Harry. All Edward could do was watch, amazed. It was like Harry had set up a board, all of them her peices, playing, tugging at their strings to do exactly as she wanted. Dominoes pushed by a pretty, delicate finger.

With a fake shake, Harry stumbled over to the foot Jim had nearly squelched in, plucking off a note that had been duck tapped on. With wide eyes, she held it out to Jim.

"Jim... Look."

Jim snatched the paper, frowning as he read it before swearing, running a hand through his dusty hair.

"With love from Maroni... Shit. Yet another fucking power struggle. We need to get ready for... You alright there Nygma? You look pretty... Still."

Edward jolted, humming and awing as he tried to think of something adequate to say. Harry swoopt in and saved him.

"I... I think he's in shock. I'm going to take him home. He's looking sick. I'll be back in an hour, tops. You can fill me in on who this Maroni guy is when I get back... Motherfucker brought it to our own door. He can't get away with this jim. Dougherty... Dougherty was a good man."

Jim's gaze snapped away frm his, attention thankfully diverted. His gaze softened on Harry. Edward felt like laughing. Could he not see the twinkle in her eye?

"Yeah, you do that. He looks unsteady. Get back as soon as you can though, no one from the GCPD should be alone right now incase this is just the first of Maroni's moves. Don't worry Harry. Maroni will get what's coming to him."

Harry nodded slowly, edging towards Nygma, scooping up his arm.

"Good."

And just as the rest of the police officers came in in a flurry, guns raised, having been called in by the Commisioner and Bullocks call back, the commissioner in the middle of their little congregation, Edward and Harry pushed through, heading for the door, sunlight shining in front of them. Just as they pushed through the door, Leaning over, Harry whispered to him.

"You really need to work on your acting."

Edward couldn't stop the laughter.

"It seems you can act for the both of us. Hey, Harry? I can start a war or end one, I can give you the strength of heroes or leave you powerless, I might be snared with a glance, but no force can compel me to stay; What am I?"

Harry smiled, wrapping her arm through his, the two walking down the road like old friends or lovers on their way to a date rather than away from a crime scene they had patched together in less than an hour.

"Love."

* * *

 **Jerome Valeska- The Joker  
Game On.  
**

"Really? An ax? How sloppy and unoriginal."

Jerome stood from being crouched over his mothers brutalized body, muscles aching, flexing, ax swinging at his side, the small wind ghosting along the river fluffing his hair from his eyes. He was ready to go again. Ready to swing, slash and slice. However, his mother was already dead. Gone. It was no fun when they couldn't fight back, couldn't cry, couldn't swear and beg and spit venom.

Throwing the ax from one hand to another, peering into the darkness around him, up a little rocky in slope just from where he stood, he saw Red in all her glory sitting on the very edge, hands underneath her legs, feet swinging. Her jacket was missing, hair loose and wild, a pair of sunglasses keeping the curls at bay and bizarrely... She was barefoot. She looked like a city nymph escaped from her concrete prison, here to dance in the sand and blood, to cause havoc and mischief. _His mouth watered._

Jerome giggled, blood splattered everywhere, streaks and stripes decorating his skin like an abstract painting. He liked the feeling of it crusting on his skin, drying, sticking. Waving his arms out as if he was going to hug her, he spoke.

"I had to improvise. You just going to sit there and watch, or help me hide the body?"

Red smiled, eyes twinkling, glowing, too green and bright for the darkness around them only pushed back by the circus a few feet down the hill, illuminating the horizon, the carnival music nothing but a hint in the wind. With her toothy grin, bright eyes and perched, relaxed stance, she reminded him of the Cheshire cat. Did that mean he was her mad hatter? Or perhaps the king of hearts, he had always thought a crown would suit him. She plucked something from her pocket, small, rectangular, a bright light blaring to dazzling life... A phone. She began to tap away at something on the screen, the small click mingling with the haunting tune that barely hummed in his ears. As she did so, she talked to him, tone disjointed, jolly, all sing song and nursery rhymes.

"You said the other week me and you are a lot alike, I want to see how much. You see, something like this, hiding a body with a crowd a few feet to your right, well, I could get around that with ease... But could you?"

Was she trying to deny what he had thought he had previously shown her? No. It was too late to go back. Too late to be alone. He wouldn't let her lie to herself and in turn, lie to him. He saw her just as much as she saw him. That, he knew.

"You and I are cut from the same cloth! You know it, I know it. You can keep up with me and-"

"Yeah, yeah. The thing is, saying I can keep up with you doesn't necessarily mean you can keep up with me. Oh, one second, I've got to make a phone call."

She coughed into her close fist, cracking her neck side to side before placing her phone to her ear, her breathing becoming ragged, harsh, tears misting her eyes. The change happened faster than a click of his fingers. Jerome's head tilted to the side, eyeing her, watching, waiting. What game was she playing? Nevertheless, he was sure he was going to enjoy it.

"He-Hello? Please... Is this Haly's Circus security? Oh, it is? Thank god! Please, I think... I think somethings wrong... Terribly wrong! I-I-I was next to the magician show and went for a w-walk and... Please, I heard shouting near the bank... You know the river... By the... The h-h-hill? Yes, there! There was shouting, loud shouting and it was dark but something was shiny and then... Oh god, then there was screaming... A woman screaming and then it all stopped so suddenly... Please, I think someone's been hurt! I heard someone laughing! A man... He-he sounded crazy! Yes! Please, come quickly!"

Then, flamboyantly, she pressed the hang up button, threw the phone behind her like a ball of garbage and the tears, harsh breathing and quiver were gone as if they had never been there in the first place. Smiling, she winked at him.

"Well... Haly's Circus has just been tipped off, bet they're dashing over here as we speak. How silly of me to do such a thing... And look at you, covered in blood, weapon still in hand, standing over your mum's corpse. It won't be hard to put two and two together. Tick tock, Jerome."

She stood up, grass swallowing her feet, turning away, she threw one more challenge over her shoulder as she backed away.

"Show me you can keep up with me and then... Only then, we will be real equals. Do what you do best Jerome... Make me laugh... Put on a show!"

Then she was gone, jogging into the darkness until it swallowed her whole, her only company was Jerome's laughter. Just like a nymph, she left no footprints behind.

Jerome chuckled as he turned away from the mirror, wiping away the last trace of blood, getting changed, balling his clothes up and stashing them into a corner for later disposal. He didn't know how much time he had, and after wasting an hour talking to that insipid Cicero, manipulating him to help, he had even less time to prepare himself for when people started to ask questions.

He had originally planned to slice his mother up, bag her like groceries with bricks and dump her putrid body parts in Gotham river, but Red's appearance had changed all that... _He liked it._ His original plan had been boring. Mundane. Something a petty murderer would do. Something below people like him and Red. This way was unpredictable, forced him to think on his feet, improvise and lie and play and... He was getting ahead of himself. Too excited, the adrenaline high in his blood. _Oh, today was a good day to be alive!_

Just as he pulled on a cardigan, old, knitted and muted in color, a play on an innocent little boy, he heard the tin door knock. Strolling to the door, one thought buzzed around his mind. _Showtime._

Readying himself, his smile melted into a worried frown, shoulders sagging, introverted and stressed. Reaching out, he twisted the handle and pushed the door open, using his hidden leg to push the bloodstained clothes further under the couch and out of sight. A man, clean shaven, pressed suit, woolen coat, prim and proper was standing there with the ringmaster, just to the side of them was a woman, tall, boringly graceful, brunette. He nearly forgot her face as soon as his eyes left it.

"Detective Gordon with the GCPD, we need to speak to Lila."

Before Jerome could speak, drop into character, someone smaller stepped out behind Jim, absolutely beaming... Dark red hair shining as brightly as her eyes. Red.

"And Detective Harry Potter. You always forget about me, Jim. Ooooh, nice snake."

Jerome blinked, fighting down the laughter that shook his ribcage, threatening to bubble free and expose everything. Red... Red was a Detective, called Harry and was supposedly looking for his mother when she knew exactly where she was. Oh, she was glorious indeed. Had she been planning this game of chess from the very beginning? If this was only the first, imagine the games that would come later! However, first, it seemed to be his move and he was itching to play. Frowning, Jerome pulled his coat on as he stepped out of the trailer.

"She's not here. Why? What's happened?"

From the corner of his eye, he could see Harry walk past him, towards the snake, crouching down eye to eye with the python, poking a finger at the snake as it reared in what looked to be greeting, but his attention was diverted by Gordon.

"Where is she?... Harry? Are you hissing at that snake?"

The noise cut off before Harry turned and smiled at Jim, standing up, brushing her hands off and going to stand next to him once more. Jerome could have sworn he saw the snake nod. Shaking his head, thinking Harry was just trying to throw him off and have him slip, he refocused on Gordon. He doubted she would rat on him when she was the one to set this all up. Also, it would be highly disappointing if she cut their game off before it and they really had begun. She was better than that.

"Errr, I don't know. She was supposed to be home ages ago."

Jim frowned deeper but it was Harry who asked the next question, goading.

"Are you a relative?"

She damn well knew he was, the little pixie. Jerome only hazard a glance at Harry, weary of what looking at her too long would do. If he was going to rise up and take up her little challenge, he had to get his head in the game and she had a funny way of muddling thoughts. She was fighting down a smile nearly as bright as the one he was stomping down on.

"I'm her son. Jerome... This is Sheba, she's been acting strange all day. She's distraught. She knows something's wrong."

Well, not entirely true. Sheba had only been acting strange since Harry had crouched in front of its cage. Jim sighed.

"Well, the snake does seem agitated."

The ringmaster stepped in closer, leaning into Gordon, slyly eyeing Jerome before turning his back on him, as if that somehow made his following words unintelligible when he practically shouted them. He too knew what had happened to his mother, Cicero had wrangled him in to help hide the body... Fucking fools. The lot of them. Although, Jerome was excited to see what he would say. Not that he knew Jerome had anything to do with it, just that poor blind Cicero had stumbled across a body and that the circus had a killer in their midst.

"Sir... She's what you call a party girl. Back in the morning with her knickers in her handbag."

Jerome fought down the urge to hit the man, strangely enough, Harry seemed to be doing the same. He was interrupting their chess match. However, Harry mirrored his image, leaning in to speak to Jim like a little red devil on his shoulder.

"Snakes are loyal and she obviously is distressed... They also have a great sense of smell."

It was obvious to what Harry was hinting, to use the snake to track Lila, but it was ridiculous. Snakes weren't tracking animals. Once loose, it would either bath or slither away to hunt. Gordon pinned Jerome with a stare, crossing his arms.

"How fast does she move?"

After a while, the snake was let loose and low and behold somehow, someway it tracked down his mother's corpse on the back of a hay truck under a blanket of tarp. He had no doubt somehow it was Harry that had orchestrated it, somehow gotten a snake to go exactly where she had wanted it to. After all, wasn't she testing him to see if he could keep up with her? Match her? He would show her. Glancing over, he whispered.

"Watch me."

Then, he was crying, sobbing, falling to his knees in the dirt, hurt, lost, a lonely orphan who had lost his dearest mother. The idiots around him reacted as he suspected. The brunette woman whispered an 'Oh God' as she came to help him up, ushering him away from the horrid sight, protecting him as if he was a newborn fawn, Jim following, looking remorseful. Harry, however, laughed and laughed loudly.

"Harry!"

Jim snapped as he sharply glared at her from over his shoulder.

"Sorry... Sorry."

Jim turned back around, beginning to usher him away but Jerome made sure Harry saw the words he mouthed at her.

"Game on."

This time, her laughter followed him into the dark.

* * *

 **Jim Gordon**  
 **Trust me, let go!**

"Don't fire! You'll hit Jim!"

Harry shouted as she smacked Bullock's gun down as Jim wrangled and twisted his arms tighter around the man he was dangling from, the weather balloon pulling them higher and higher with every passing second. And to think that day had started out so normal...

To be honest, this was the first case he and Harry had severely clashed horns about, and all over something as ridiculous as a vigilante called 'balloon man'. If he survived this, he was sure to apologize for his more snarky remarks towards her.

You see, the balloon man wasn't just any criminal. Not just any murderer. He only targeted corrupt officials and heads. After that had come to light, after the death of Bill Cranston, he and Harry had taken very different stances on the opposite edges of the board. To Jim, he needed to be brought in and put on trial for his crimes as soon as possible. He was, after all, a murderer and in his eyes, no one, no matter their intent, was above the law. It made him push harder to find the deranged man.

To Harry, it had garnered a sort of sympathy and leniency towards what the papers had nicknamed balloon man. To her, in her own words, what did it matter if he was killing one life that was ruining and possible killing five or more? If a murderer was just a murderer, did that mean killing in self-defence was also wrong? What was the difference between him and a cop that had chosen to shoot instead of push on in a dangerous arrest? If she killed this balloon man if push came to shove, would he arrest her? He had to give it to Harry, she did make tough points to dispute. This case, despite its almost comical overtones, had been one of the most serious, self-reflecting, hardest cases he had worked in years.

In the end, the two had spent most of the case blowing up at each other, sarcastically scorning the other with poor Harvey trapped in the middle of their escalating arguments. In this, they just couldn't see eye to eye, and now, floating away as he was, he was sure they would never get a chance to.

"What else can we do?!"

Jim heard Harvey yell as he turned to glare at her. The trip up might be taking a while, but he wasn't ready for the fast plummet back down to earth. _Shit._ What was he going to do? How was he going to get out of this one?

"They're too far up, a fall this big will kill them... Shit, shit, shit!"

His thoughts exactly. At least he and Harry were back on the same wave length... Even if it was only for the few minutes he had left. Looking down, he could see Harry pacing, rubbing her forehead before swiveling back to Harvey.

"I... Just don't judge too fast, yeah?... Sometimes you have to sacrifice the queen to save the king."

He would sort of miss Harry's chess metaphors. Just as he was about to shout down to tell them it was alright, they'd done what they could have and perhaps something wise people would remember him for, jazzy enough to be engraved on his tombstone, there was a thunderous crack and Harry... Harry disappeared in a twirl, as if she had been vacuumed out of existence from her torso.

Then there was an almighty crack right by his ear and Harry was clinging onto him, popping up out of nowhere... Thin air... How? Down below, they could both hear Harvey swearing up a storm.

"We don't have time for questions! You have to trust me! Let go Jim!"

Jim didn't know what emotion to settle on. Amazement. Anger. Wander. Confusion... More confusion. Instead, he deliriously laughed.

"Let go? We'll both die!"

Harry grappled with him tighter, wrapping one arm over his should, the other under his ribs, like a seat belt, while also locking her legs around him. If he wasn't so confused, he would think she was part monkey. Glaring at him, she shouted over the wind that was picking up around them, whistling in their ears. Fuck. They were getting above the city skyline.

"You have to trust me! Bloody let go! Now!"

Sucking in a deep breath, refusing to look down and see the ground rise up to hit them, confused beyond belief, Jim unhooked his arms and simply let go. In the few seconds that it took for them to drop, his stomach in his mouth and his brain lost back where the weather balloon was, those seconds seemingly lasted a lifetime before the crack rang out once more, sickening vertigo pulling at his conscious as it felt like he was being pulled through a needle's eye.

Then he was standing on solid ground, next to Harvey, Harry letting go as he doubled over and... Vomited all over the alley and his shoes. Once the gagging stopped, he scrambled to straighten himself, blinking at Harry who had backed away from him and Harvey, scratching the back of her head with a sheepish grin.

"I suppose I have some explaining to do?"

"Damn right you do! What are you, fucking nightcrawler?"

Jim shot Harvey a glare.

"Bullock."

Bullock glared before softening, turning to Harry with his hands held up in surrender.

"Fine... Fine. That was uncalled for. But shit girl! Where the hell have you been hiding that?"

With slow but sure steps, Jim walked towards Harry. When he got close enough, he noticed she flinched, as if expecting a to be hit or shouted at, instead, all she got was a hug.

"You saved my life... Explanations can come later. Thank you."

She tensed up, joints locking before she slowly melted, loosely hugging him back before her nose scrunched up and she shoved him away.

"Maybe save the hugs and thank you's for when you're not covered in sick, yeah?"

Jim could only laugh as he nodded, the trio making their way out of the alley to the car. They would have a lot of paperwork to fill in. Only then did he realize, when he thought he was dying, Harry had been his last thoughts, not Barbara or his father or even Harvey... He was in some deep shit.

* * *

 **NEXT CHAPTER IS THE LETTER D! \- If you have any prompts, one word and beginning with D, that you want to read, make sure to send them to me! I've sort of melded two together in this chapter as they both sparked inspiration and I couldn't decide between the two XD. Who knows? I might end up mixing two again, if people liked how this turned out.**

 **IMPORTANT:** If anyone is wondering why Harry seems more off-kilter and slightly (A lot more) darker with Jerome then she does with the other characters, it's because they're from different time frames. I added Harry to the pretty much get go of Gotham, Oswald, Edward and Jim were all there, however, Jerome doesn't come into the show until episode 16 and that's a lot of ground to cover and I didn't want to skip it. So, as you can see, Harry's had more time in Gotham with Edward, Oswald and Jim, more experiences (Good and bad) that have shaped her into what you see with Jerome in that frame compared to what you read with Oswald, Edward and Jim. Don't worry, we'll be delving into exactly what those experiences are, but they're beginning to show with Edward and Oswald at least. I just wanted to clear that up in case there was any confusion.

 _ **THANK YOU!** _ To everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited, I hope I am doing you guys justice and you are enjoying this bumpy, insane ride! As always, _**PLEASE REVIEW,**_ they give my starved little muse the inspiration she needs to get whispering in my ear, and evidently, me typing away. I really do enjoy hearing your thoughts and feelings, and honestly, some of the reviews make me smile!

Until next time, stay beautifully crazy! ~ _AlwaysEatTheRude21_


	4. Dreams & Delusions

**PART IV**

 **D is for Dreams and Delusions- A.K.A- The four times Someone dreamt of Harry and the one time Harry dreamt of them all.**

* * *

 **Prompts accepted and assigned to:**   
Guest: _"Often will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee. I'll entertain you an entire eve, but alas, you won't remember me. What am I?" Dream. **(Overall theme. P.S I REALLY liked this prompt as the reader gave it to me in a riddle and it took me a while to figure it out!)**_ ✓  
Lizzy B: _dungeons? Like, being trapped? **(Jerome)**_ ✓  
Sabby: _For words that start with D: Desire, **(Gordon)**_ ✓  
Ghouly-Girl: _Destruction would be good. **(Penguin)**_ ✓  
Carelessdodger: _Something that shows Harry's two sides, so duplicity? **(Harry)**_ ✓  
Vrenshrrgn: _dauntless... **(Riddler)**_ ✓

(There was just so many prompts I loved that I had to try and incorperate them all. I may have bitten of more than I can chew this chapter... XD)

* * *

 **Oswald Cobblepot- The Penguin**

 _Destruction- Noun- The action or process of causing so much damage to something that it no longer exists or cannot be repaired._

Every King needs a Queen.  


Oswald Cobblepot cautiously made his way down the shadowy hallway, cocked gun clasped tightly in his hand, half raised, steady. Ready. Waiting. He knew this mansion. He knew the marble statues. He knew the old world oil paintings. He knew the ostentatious gold flaked decor. This was Don Falcone's home. Along with all this, somewhere deep down, right in the pit of his stomach, he knew Falcone, Mooney and Maroni were somewhere around, cornered, shrouded, hiding. He needed to find them. He needed to end this. The clock had struck zero and now was the time to act.

From down the hallway, he could hear the muted thrum and bass of music playing, slipping out from underneath a lit door crack, the only light in the dusky hallway. At strange intervals, with each step closer, he could hear the stomp and creak of pacing footsteps on polished floorboards. Someone was home. If he didn't act now, if he didn't move while he still could, something terrible would happen. He knew it. He was surrounded, bleeding in the water and the sharks around him smelt blood. The time for planning was over and done with.

In truth, Oswald couldn't exactly remember why he was in the mansion in the first place, why he was carrying a loaded gun, nor why he knew, just knew, if he crossed paths with either Maroni, Falcone or Fish Mooney, he should and would fire without hesitation. However, the effect was all the same, he was on a hair trigger, itching to pull and unload a bullet. If he didn't shoot them, they would shoot him and everything he had done until this point, every little plan he had formed would all be for nothing. He couldn't fall at the last hurdle. He refused to.

Pushing his back against the wall, right by the doorway, Oswald closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils as he raised his gun higher, readying himself. Now or never. It would end. It had to end. He won. With a slip of his foot and a grin on his face, as dark and tantalizing as the night around him, his shoe-clad toes dipped into the crack and on the mental countdown of three, Oswald kicked the door open, swiveled, took aim and fired.

The bang was the first thing to register, dizzying him for a moment, squealing in his ears in a war cry. Then it was the flash of the gun going off, bleaching out the image of exactly who stood in front of him. Not that it mattered. He had won! However, that soon passed and the next thing he noticed was the color red. It was bleeding out of a small, curvy chest, staining and blooming across an old band shirt... Band shirt? Band shirt!

The gun dropped to the floor with a clang, his smile splintering and disintegrating on his face but Oswald couldn't focus on the noise or his expression, not when all he could do was watch as Harry, face slacked, eyes wide, betrayed, hurt, crumbled to the floor in a heap, hands gingerly snapping to her chest, blood trickling through her fingers in rivets as she pressed against the wound.

"Harry... Harry! Oh. Oh god... I thought... I wasn't... It wasn't meant to be you..."

What had he done?! No... She wasn't supposed to be here! He didn't... He wouldn't... It wasn't his fault! This was Falcone's, Mooney's even. They had set him up! Orchestrated this... It wasn't his fault! Oswald dashed for her body, skidding onto his knees, hands shaking violently as he pulled her up, torso and head onto his lap, hands going to her chest, coming away stained red, never to be clean again. It wasn't meant to be her! It was meant to be Mooney or Falcone! This wasn't what he wanted... Wasn't what he had planned! It was wrong! everything was wrong! What had he done?

"If it wasn't you... It would have been them... Oh, Oz..."

Oswald tore his gaze away from his blood coated hands, nausea twisting his gut like a corkscrew in a bottle of fine wine. No matter what he did, what he tried, the blood kept coming, thick and warm and never ending. Breath. He had to breath. Everything was fine. All wasn't lost. Harry would live. He just had to... He just... They would... Oh, dear god! What had he done? Then her words clicked home, stabbing through the frantic fog clouding his mind. Them? Who? Had someone brought her here? Had he been right? Was this Falcone or Fish's doing? Pay... They had to pay!

"Them?... Who... Who?!"

Harry smiled, dimples flashing, but all Oswald could see was the blood coating her teeth as she coughed, voice stern but weak. No! Not like this! He was supposed to have won! He would be king in Gotham, his mother would ask for nothing, Harry would be at his side and all would be right and just and pleasant. After all, every king needed a queen. It wasn't supposed to end here, Harry bleeding and dying in his arms.

"Mooney... Falcone... Maroni... They'll kill you Oswald... They'll destroy you."

Oswald shook his head violently. No. It was supposed to end with him on top, Mooney dead underneath his shoes. He would climb. His mother would get all she deserved, a proper home, riches she could never count. Harry would be there, in her distasteful clothing, humming along to Queen songs underneath her breath. It was never meant to end this way. They wanted to destroy him, did they? He would show them what true destruction looked like! The next generation wouldn't even know their names, forgotten, discarded like the garbage they were!

"But not you! It was never meant to involve you! Harry... Hold on, please. That's it, stay with me."

Harry laughed, croaky, biting, blood bubbling up and dripping down her chin from the action. She rose a shaky hand, palm clammy and cold, frigid, painting a smear of red across his skin as it grazed his cheek, long, nimble fingers brushing into his hair.

"Don't you see?... De-...Destroying me... Killing me... It will kill you too... They know that... You see... That now... Don't you? They're coming Oz and you need... You need to prepare..."

No. Not possible. Impossible. It couldn't... Wouldn't come to this. He wouldn't let it. He couldn't let it.

"No... No, no, no, no! It wasn't supposed to be like this!"

"Then... Change it... Fix it... You... Know... What... You... Have... To do..."

Her hand flopped from his face, eyes closing, green no longer... She was dead.

Oswald blinked blearily as he wiped the water off his face with an old hand towel, dropping it with a sodden plop in the basin, bracing his hands on the sink, squarely looking himself in the eye in the cracked mirror of his bathroom. Still, an hour later from waking up covered in sweat and eyes misty, he couldn't stop hearing what dream Harry had told him, the words wrapping around his mind, suffocating him.

... They'll destroy you...

He still couldn't get that damned dream out of his head. No matter what he did, what he tried, every time he blinked, there it was. A knock on the door turned his knuckles white as his hands clenched on the porcelain rim of the sink.

"Darling, are you okay? Breakfast is ready!"

"I'll be out in a moment mother."

The truth was, he needed to act and act now. It was getting too close. Too tight. The chess pieces were falling fast and it wasn't just himself in the line of fire if things went wrong. In that little aspect, he was thankful for his dream. It had helped him see just that.

He had been playing it too safe for too long. Maroni was stupid, but he wasn't a complete moron. Soon, he would figure out there was something off with him, investigate and the game would be over. If it wasn't Maroni, it would be Falcone, or worse, Mooney. Yes, his steps needed to be cautious, but he needed to start taking steps at the very least.

Sooner or later, one of them would make a move and he had to be ready for it... Or ready to pay the price for it and that... That he wasn't willing to do, not after the dream he had. He had a taste of it, paying prices too high, he didn't care much for the flavor.

His mother, she would be targeted. Harry, just like in his dream, would be targeted too. He knew what he had to do.

"Destroy them before they destroy me."

Oswald Cobblepot pushed himself away from the sink, cracking his neck as he turned his back on his reflection. Today was the day, Maroni wouldn't see nightfall and no one would see the hurricane of destruction hovering above their heads, ready to drop. He would win. He had to.

* * *

 **Jim Gordon- The Commissioner**

 _Desire-Noun- A strong feeling of wanting to have something or wishing for something to happen._

Something much worse.  


The world around him was hazed golden, dusted, glowing and peaceful. Tranquil. Jim Gordon felt light, airy, like a cloud on a summer's day, just drifting through life. Easy. Natural.

Straightening his tie, he hummed as he strolled into the light, open spaced kitchen. The window was wide open, little birds tweeting their merriment from the tall oak tree that stood proudly in their front garden. As he walked passed the doorway, Jim smiled, spotting his wife as she plated up the pancakes, dressed only in an oversized shirt, bedhead and... Delectable. Sidling up behind her, Jim wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning over to give her a lingering kiss on the cheek before pulling back an inch, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"That smells delicious."

He could feel her frame shake from the chuckle more than he could actually hear it with his face half buried in her wild curls. It was times like this he lived for. The peaceful little snapshots, far away from work and mayhem and Gotham in general. He just wanted to coat himself in this memory, carry it with him, bask in it when things got too tough or grim in his line of work... Their line of work.

"Yes, well, they won't smell half as pleasant if I end up burning them because you can't keep your hands to yourself."

Everything was right. The sun was blazing. His wife was in his arms. Little Jim and Lily were at school. Everything was good and Jim didn't want the moment to end, even if it did equate to burnt pancakes. He wished he had a pause button, just to stay here, right here, for a moment longer. The problem was, if he had such a tool, he wasn't sure he would press play again. Ever. However, for as long as it would last, he would revel in it.

"I don't ever remember making that vow at our wedding..."

His wife turned slowly in his arms, forcing him to lift his chin and draw back an inch, but not too far. He was far too comfortable here to be pulled too far away. Here was safe. Here he had everything he had ever hoped for. Here was... Bliss. She dropped the spatula onto the worktop behind her, gracing him with that snarky grin he had come to adore.

"You know what? I don't think I remember that vow either..."

Her hand snuck up, fingers coiling around his tie as she tugged him closer, her plump lips nearly brushing his. Now, these were the types of mornings he lived for, the missing piece to the perfect morning... Until his wife spoke up and dashed those hazy hopes.

"However, you have work in thirty minutes. I'd hurry if I was you."

Then she was turning in his arms again, back to her pancakes and the pot of hot earl gray tea, her favorite. He sighed, his other arm joined its partner, wrapping around her torso, palms splaying across her stomach as his chin dropped back into the curve of her neck. Perfection. They always slotted together flawlessly, as if they were made to fit together.

"Bullock can handle it for an hour or two. If being commissioner means I can't be late every once in a while, I wouldn't have taken the promotion. It also won't be long before this little one joins us and you know how busy we were with Lily, let alone Jim... God knows what this one will be like. Especially if they have your knack for running head first into danger at the first siren."

Once again, he could feel her laugh, the bell-like tinkle sending a pleasant shiver up his spine. He pulled her closer, eyes sliding shut. Peace. Undisturbed calm.

"If he or she is anything like their siblings or us, we're in for quite a ride... Then again, talking about ride... I suppose Bullock can hold Gotham together for an extra hour or two..."

Now it was Jim's turn to chuckle, spinning his wife away from the stove and over to the fridge, pinning her between it and him.

"Now I knew there was a reason I married you."

Her hands trailed up his chest, skirting around his neck, fingers scratching his scalp, teasing, tantalizing. She smiled up at him, he grinned down at her, and she opened her mouth to retort... But it wasn't her voice that came out, the words not fitting the movement of her lips and tongue, like the badly dubbed foreign films she was so fond of.

"Jim... Jim wake up... You're going to be late!"

Jim frowned as the cozy, peaceful world around him crumbled and frayed around the edges, consciousness slowly filling his mind. He blinked, staring up at a smiling... Barbara as she gently shook him awake.

"What... What?"

Jim ran a rough hand down his face, stubble itching, the question more poignant than he had meant. What the hell had that dream been? What the hell was going on? Did he really... Barbara, still dressed in her designer silken nighty, unlike his dream wife who wore scruffy, overly large T-shirts to bed, pulled away from him, still smiling as she plonked back onto the bed in a ruffle of blankets and bouncy springs.

"If I didn't know you weren't gay, I'd be worried."

Jim groaned as he pushed himself up on his elbows, gaze flickering to the alarm clock. Seven thirty AM. Shit. He really was late.

"Why?"

By now, the dream was hazy, nothing but a flimsy plot, muted hues and smeared faces. However, the feelings that had accompanied it felt real, too real. As he pushed out of bed, skimming around Barbara to dash and get ready, he could see her from the corner of his eye, shrug, cross her legs and send him a taunting grin as he slipped and tugged on a pair of slacks, pulling the zipper and button closed. He needed to get to the GCPD, and fast or the commissioner was going to have his head.

"The way you were calling out that name... Harry, could make a full grown woman blush. Nothing to worry about, is there? Not questioning your sexuality?"

Jim stalled, one arm inside his shirt, hair still sleepily ruffled. Ironically enough, Barbara had fallen into the same trap he had when he had heard of Harry, thinking she was of the male populace. He... He remembered now. Shit. What the fuck was his mind playing on him? Harry was his friend. His colleague. Nothing more. No. Then why did his stomach twist so horribly at that ardent thought? Jim shook his head, turning his back on Barbara... His fiance. Oh, he was a terrible person. A right 'wanker' Harry would call him... No. No more thoughts of her. Not after that... Dream.

"Ha ha. No... No."

No, he was doing something much worse.

* * *

 **Jerome Valeska- The Joker**

 _Dungeon- Noun- A strong underground prison cell, especially in a castle._

Play with me?

Jerome Valeska stayed chained to the cobbled floor of the prison cell, caged, trapped, strapped to the damp floor like a rabid pet about to be put down. All around him were bars, silver, shiny and tall, barricading him off from the rest of the outside. Not much good they were doing there, he couldn't see an inch further than the bars, the darkness from outside was too bulky. His only companion was his own laughter, which bounced back from the great darkness to keep him company. How gracious of it.

That was all he knew, all he felt, all he thought until the squeaking of wheels splintered out and tickled his ears a lifetime later. A tune, old, slightly recognizable hummed out, a dim voice accompanying it, singing, growing in strength second by agonizing second. He... He wasn't alone. He had always been alone... But now... Now he wasn't. Jerome pulled on his restraints, trying to wiggle to the bars, to the tune and singing, but the chains only grew tighter, nailing him to the middle of his cell.

"Very superstitious, writings on the wall. Very superstitious, ladder's 'bout to fall."

A light blazed to life, bright, powerful, the kind the ringmaster used when he paraded the lions. Just like that, the blackness was gone, eaten, defeated. Well, one side of his cage was lightened, at any rate. In the light stood a woman, just at the corner of his cage, red hair aflame under the beam of light. She was dressed in a black leotard, top hat sitting wonky on her crisp curls, legs and arms on full display apart from her neck that was covered by the turtleneck of the leotard. She was pushing something around... A cooker. It was old, beaten, pale blue paint flaking off the rusted metal.

He... He knew that cooker! It was his mothers. It was the cooker he had first used to kill his mother's damned snake when he was eight years old. He had hated that snake. Loathed it. His mother had once used it to bite him after he had been a 'naughty boy'. Of course, he had had the last laugh after she had discovered her precious boa constrictor baked and blackened in the oven, nothing but a pile of ashy scales and thin, pointy bones. She had never used her little reptilian friends to try and scare or punish him again after that.

The tune picked up and the woman smiled, dimples and all, as she gave the cooker an almighty shove, heaving herself onto it at the same time, gliding to the front of his... Dungeon as she faced him, legs crossed, one pointed out in a streamline of curves and taut muscle, one arm propping her up as the other reached up and snatched the top hat off her head, holding it high and proudly in the air.

"Very superstitious, wash your face and hands. Rid me of the problem, do all that you can."

He... Knew that song. It had been the song drifting from the magician's caravan the first day he had met Harry... Harry! Of course, he wasn't alone! He had found Harry and here... Harry had found him! The tempo picked up and Harry jumped off from the cooker, flinging the top hat to the side as she spun before sliding into another part of the darkness, another side of his cage, another stage light blaring to life as she entered it.

This side was different. A chair, old like the cooker, just as decrepit too, perched in the middle by his bars, a metal tray and two cylindrical canisters surrounded it. Harry danced over to the chair, hopping up onto it with her long legs, hips swaying to the beat as her hands ran up her body to tangle into her hair. Jerome lurched forward, begging, salivating, but the chains halted all movement.

"Keep me in a daydream, keep me goin' strong. You don't wanna save me, sad is my song."

With a kick of her leg, she flicked up the oxygen mask, catching it mid-air deftly as she pressed it to her face, breathing in deeply as she slid onto the seat, still swaying. He remembered that chair too. His mother didn't earn much, not with her job and how often they moved from city to city. When his appendix had burst, having no medical insurance but an eager lover in a vet she had an... Acquaintance to, she had dragged him there to be 'fixed'. The vet hadn't known the proportion of anesthetic to give a thirteen-year-old boy, too expensive the vet had said. Instead, the bastard had relied on old, dodgy, black marketed laughing gas to ease the pain of being sliced open and operated on awake as he was strapped to that chair by leather cuffs. Jerome had started laughing that day... And had never stopped.

"Very superstitious, nothin' more to say. Very superstitious, the devil's on his way."

Like an oil slick, Harry slipped off the chair, skipping over to the bars, leg kicking out to slam open a door Jerome had not known had been there. Skipping in, hopping to the beat, she ignored him as she danced around, forcing him to try and turn in his chains as she reached up behind him, grasping onto something dangling as she began to swing back and forth like a pendulum, giggling. Another light came on, in his cage, his prison, eyes burning. He wasn't used to the light. As his eyes adjusted, blinking rapidly, he saw what she was swinging from and laughed.

"Thirteen month old baby, broke the lookin' glass. Seven years of bad luck, good things in your past."

A noose. Red, poorly made, extension cable noose. That was his noose, crafted with his own loving hands when he had just turned sixteen, drunk from his mother's stolen booze, bruised from another beating, weak, tittering on the edge of sanity. He had passed out before the fucker broke and he was left to splutter back to life alone. And just like that extension cord, his sanity had snapped that night too.

"When you believe in things that you don't understand, then you suffer. Superstition ain't the way."

The music stopped and all he could hear was his own heartbeat, his breathing, hot and heavy, pulsing in the air. He pulled harder on his chains. He wanted free. He wanted to join her. He wanted to dance and sing and... The soft pad of her bare feet hitting damp concrete shattered his incoherent thoughts. She swaggered towards him, a hand dipping behind her back as she bent down in front of him, eye to eye, smile to manic smile. Then, her hand came back, holding something small and shiny between thin fingers. A key. The key to his chains.

"Are you going to come and play with me?"

Play. That was it. He wanted to play. Oh, the games he and she could get up to. He spoke and her smile was answer enough as she went to unchain him. Matched. Equals. Two crazy kids in a crazy world...

"Yes... Oh, yes! Hahahahaaaaa."

The ringing of his cellphone broke him out of the dream. He answered more viciously than he intended to.

"What do you want?"

Detective Gordon's voice echoed from the other end, more apprehensive than normal. Right. Shit. The case on the 'murder' of his mother... The challenged Harry had given him

 _But can you keep up with me?_

Thankfully, Gordon couldn't see the smile decorate his face from over the phone. Keep up? By the end of this little game, Harry would see they could tango step for step and not miss a beat.

"Can you come into the station Jerome? I just have a few more questions to ask and it will be easier to have all questioning done while the rest of the circus is in here."

Jerome smoothed his voice, meek, cracking, placating. The detective lapped it up.

"Of course detective. Anything to help. I-I'll be there in an hour. I... Erm, have to catch the bus and I need to- to lock up. I'm sorry... I'm just so... It's... Hard."

Go on, bite. Bite. Bite. Bite!

"I know this can't be easy for you kid. Don't worry about the bus, I'll have someone drive over and pick you up."

Jerome forced down his laughter. Thankfully, through the poor reception, it sounded more like a muted sob. Hook. Line. And sinker.

"If... If you could and it's not too much trouble... I mean you're doing enough as it is and I hate to impose... But if you could try and get Detective Potter to come, I would be so thankful. She was extremely kind to me the other night... A real comfort and I want to offer my gratitude. Of course, that is if she's not already busy."

He heard Detective Gordon heartily scoffed from the other end, the first part of his sentence Jerome was sure he wasn't meant to of heard.

"Harry? Comforting? That'll be the day... Don't worry kid, she's on her way."

The line went dead and Jerome finally let his laughter out. Soon, it wouldn't be alone as it sang through the air.

* * *

 **Edward Nygma- The Riddler**

 _Dauntless- Adjective- Showing fearlessness and determination._

His Dominion.

Edward Nygma scuttled around the white-washed, boxed room, green marker pen alternating between scribbling on the wall to tapping across his lower lip. The riddles... They were everywhere, screaming for answers, begging for his mind. He had to answer them.

And so, meticulously, around and around like a merry-go-round, he darted from one wall to the other, answering the riddles scribbled and scrawled on the walls. Hunched over in a corner, writing away on the skirting board, Edward nearly missed the way the bare-bulb above his head, which had previously been bathing the room in a soft lucky-green, flickered to crimson red. Alas, he did not, and as the lighting flickered back to the comfortable green he was used to, he quizzically looked around the room.

Something didn't feel... Right. Something was somewhere it shouldn't be. Something had changed. Like those little puzzles in the back of children magazines, a cartoonish spot the difference sort, it took Edward a while to figure out what had changed. Nonetheless, when he did, the reaction was instantaneous.

"Oh, no, no, no, no!"

Darting over to the opposite wall, Edward reached up to the green riddle that he had previously answered, correctly might he add, brushing his fingers across the new answer that had boldly been slashed through his neat and organized, precise writing. The paint, a brilliant red that boarded on maroon, too thick to be ink, was still wet, dripping in places, threatening to taint the writing underneath it with the drips and trails. Perhaps it was even too thick to be paint...

what dries the more it gets wet...

Across his answer, towel, in heavy, curvy writing was one word. Harry. However, where his answer had ended in the right punctuation, this one ended in a large, almost sharp, question mark, as if it was a question against a question and not the answer it should be. Edward backed away from the wall, hand slithering up into his hair, fingers hard and scraping against his sensitive scalp. Agitated.

"That isn't right! It isn't what I wrote!"

Before his annoyance could really surface, rippling against his skin like a disturbed pond, the light above his head fluctuated again to that sickening red, stagnating in the air longer than before. When the delicate green was back, Edward felt like pulling his hair out by their very follicles. Dotted around his walls, his sanctuary, his precious riddles and answers was the same damned marking.

Harry?

"No! Stop! No!"

It had taken him what felt like a lifetime to answer these riddles, to put the pieces together, and now... Just as he was so very close to finishing, it was being written over, tainted, ruined! What did it mean? Why was this word so important? Why was it devouring everything else? His other hand joined its partner in his hair, fingers coiling around his locks as he stumbled into the middle of the room, tugging and yanking.

The lighting changed once more, faster, deeper, almost succulent in color, nearly plunging the room into absolute darkness. This time, when the room came back to what it should be, what felt comfortable, his writing, his riddles... They were gone. Vanished. Destroyed. In their place was that one word, that damned question, written over and over and over again in various sizes across the white walls, so much so it was hard to tell if the walls were really white to begin with.

Harry? Harry? Harry? Harry? Harry?

"No!"

Edward yelled as he spun around, wall by wall, all red, all one question. He spun, twirled, whirled, trapped, the walls closing in on him as he turned faster and faster, the dripping paint morphing, dancing, bleeding into one sweep of red, the light above him flickering between red and green until he felt nauseous. What did it mean? What was the answer?... He didn't know... He didn't know... How could he not know? He always knew! He had to know! However, how could he know the answer when he didn't even fully understand the question?

He felt lightheaded, ill, sick, frail like spun glass. Just as his legs were about to give out, collapse underneath him and leave him in a heap on the floor, two hands, delicate, soft, comforting like the green light snatched his shoulders into a contradictorily strong grip.

He stopped spinning, forced to face the wall and the person grabbing him... Only there was no person, only arms piercing through the wall, seeping out of the paint, red and dripping like the scrawled question, tainting him, painting him too. He couldn't breathe.

As if the wall was made of opaque cellophane, Edward could see a face, a neck, an upper body begin to press through the wall, bending it, growing from its 2d depths, drawing closer and closer to him. His tongue felt too heavy, his throat too dry, his lungs too tight as the featureless face inched closer, nearly pressing to his. Then, it began to gain features, one by one, all still dripping red until he could see who it was. How could he forget her?

Harry.

She smiled at him, eyes, skin, hair, teeth, everything was red and Edward's heart stuttered like a deer stuck in headlights... Or in the jaw of a predator.

"What am I, Ned? What is Harry? Harry? Harry? Harry?"

Her teeth gleamed... And then she lunged for his neck.

Edward jerked awake in his bed, hand flying to his throat, sure he could still feel the impression of teeth tearing through his skin, eyes blurry and weak in the soft lighting of his bedroom. Head flopping back onto his pillow, Edward sucked in a deep breath before he let it out in a huff of hot air. Warily, still slightly sleep addled, he reached for his bedside table, patting his hand, smiling as his fingers brushed the metal frames of his glasses.

Plucking them up, he slipped them on as he slowly sat up, glancing at his alarm clock. 3:03 am. What the hell had that dream been? Of course, he had that dream before, or at least, the beginning part. It was nothing new to him. It had always been the same. He would be in a white room filled with riddles written on the walls, he would scurry around the room, fill them in, and then wake up. End of. Done.

Never before had... That... Harry, or anyone else for that matter, ever infected his subconscious mind. Really, he had never questioned anyone, cared enough about anyone, to have them be a part of his sleeping world. What did it mean? What was his subconscious trying to tell him?

Hunching over on his propped up elbow, cradling his forehead, Edward weakly shook his head. No. He was lying, or more aptly, not being a hundred percent truthful to himself. He knew. Deep down he had known since she had first walked into the M.E lab. Harry Potter was an enigma. A contradiction on two legs. A puzzle box with no directions. She just... Didn't make sense. Edward Nygma prided himself on his uncanny ability to make sense of things. And yet... Yet Harry tested those abilities to the extremes.

She appeared and disappeared at random times. From the reports he had snook out of filing, on her and Bullock's and Gordon's cases, she seemingly did the impossible on the daily. She stood for truth, justice and all things good... Yet hadn't batted an eyelid at helping him cover up a murder... And then straight after, went down to Derry's diner to grab lunch with him under the pretense of him being in 'shock' after witnessing such a gruesome act.

She smiled like sunbeams, yet hell fire lurked in the very depths of her eyes. She berated the psychos and killers in lock up, but she could never fully hide her smile, not from him. She fought to save lives on all accounts... Yet repeatedly laughed in deaths face when it came to her own possible demise. She was a riddle trapped in human flesh and blood. He knew what it meant... Harry was the puzzle, the riddle he so urgently needed to figure out. And figure out he would.

After all... Riddles were his dominion.

* * *

 **Harriet Lillian Potter- Master of Death**

 _Duplicity- Archaic Noun- The state of being double._

Don't let me fall.

Harry stood tottering on the brink of a small rocky tower, so far up she could not see the floor below. The platform was small, barely enough to fit her two feet on without causing her to topple over the edge. All around her was smog, blackened, thick, heady. Faintly, like a long lost memory, she thought she could hear whispering coming from the swarming smoke that threatened to suffocate her. One pillar of light broke the shroud around her, illuminating her and the little post she so precariously balanced on.

Three chains were wrapped around her, heavy and chunky, glinting. One was wrapped around her hands, tying them behind her back, the loose end going down and burrowing into the slither of land she stood on. She could just see the tail end of it, a pretty bright green metal.

The second was secured around her waist and legs, pinning, locking, coiling around her like an anaconda. She thought... She swore she could feel it writhing against her. This one was checkered, like a chessboard, alternating in deep black and decadent purple.

The last, and the most worrying, was draped around her neck, like a dog collar, tight, indenting into her soft skin, nearly cutting off her airways. Like the other two, the end was attached to the crumbling surface she was forced to stand upon. However, unlike the others, this one was more... Flamboyant. The links reminded her of a candy cane, twisted red and white, with Christmass bows dotted chaotically around like she was a gift wrapped present.

Harry struggled, pulling, tugging, jerking, but nothing worked. In fact, she could feel the chains grow tighter through her efforts, searing into her skin, branding her. From the breath of the decaying smoke, she could hear footsteps approaching her from behind. How? It was impossible. This slither of land was all she could see, all the smoke allowed her to, but deep down, somehow, someway, she knew it was the only foothold for miles around. Perhaps in the whole world.

Then, she felt a pair of hands on her wrist, fingers curling around the chain that bound them together. Before she could jump, react, try and wiggle free, a voice ghosted along her ear.

"In the False land, all the inhabitants always lie. In the True land, all the inhabitants always tell the truth. A stranger is trapped in a room that has two doors. One door leads to freedom, the other does not. The doors are guarded by a jailer from the False land and by another from the True land. To find the door to freedom, the stranger can only ask one question to one of the jailers, but he does not know which is from the True land. What question did he ask to save himself?"

Harry sagged in relief.

"Oh, thank Merlin it's you, Ned! Help me get out of these-"

The hand around her wrists and the chain tightened, twisting the metal deeper into her skin. Harry hissed. What the fuck was going on? Where was she? Why was she here? Why was Ned asking her bloody riddles when it was obvious she was trapped?

"What. Question. Did. He. Ask."

He stepped out from behind her, keeping one hand on the metal chain, just a step, but it was enough that she could see him. It was Ned, but not the Ned she knew. This one was... Sleeker. More refined, gone was his charming nervousness. His hair was combed back, glasses gone, a bowler hat hooded his eyes. He wore a pressed suit, newly tailored to his tall, imposing frame, green like the chain and swinging from his free hand was a pair of bolt cutters, green too. She could almost hear the Avada Kadavra.

Harry scrambled back on her feet, pushing herself as far back as she could, as she dared to, heels balancing on the edge of the perch she had found herself on, as the rock began to disintegrate right beneath her feet.

"Ned... Edward, I don't have time for this! Use the bloody bolt cutters and let's get out of here before I fall!"

Edward sighed, indulgent, smiling as if she was nothing but a child who hadn't grasped the math equation he had set her. Why wasn't he cutting her free? Of course, they hadn't known each other long, but she thought they were friends at least. By Merlin, she had helped him cover a murder just a few weeks ago! Harry winced, shaking her head at the memory.

"I am setting you free... We're all setting you free...You just don't see it yet. Now. What did the stranger ask?"

She shouldn't have helped him. She should have reported it to the appropriate muggle service and dusted her hands of the whole ordeal. However, when push came to shove, she just... Couldn't. Edward reminded Harry of her own insecurities. The time when she was ostracized, pushed aside, shunned because of who she was and how she acted. Ned was her, after the Tri-wizard tournament, all alone, people whispering behind her back, angry and scared and half believing they were right, she had gone insane and there had been no Voldemort to kill Cedric. Just her and her need to win a game.

Back then, she would have wished for anyone, anything to believe in her, to have her back no matter what fucked up things she had done or would need to do. Faced with that possibility with Ned, seeing the young her reflected right back at her, she had done what she wished someone had done for her. She had stood tall in his corner. Edwards sigh of impatience had Harry scrambling for an answer.

"Erm... Wait.. Hold on... is it 'If I asked you which door... the other jailer would tell me is the right one, which one will he point at?'... No matter which of the two jailers he asks, they both will point at the wrong one. So, he should choose the opposite one... Right?... Right?! Now help me get out of here! Ned, please!"

Edward let go of her wrists and chain, propping the bolt cutters in the crease of his elbow as he clapped.

"Correct! However... Sorry, Harry. The only direction to go from here is down. We'll meet you there."

"Wait! Don't! Ned!"

Then he was cutting through her chain with a grind and snap and before Harry could bring her hands around, he was kicking her forward, the smoke rushing in to swallow him whole. Harry sailed off the edge, screaming as she swung back, her back hitting the biting stone, the chains around her legs and neck the only thing stopping her from falling all the way down into the nothingness. Harry scrabbled for a grip on the rock, now that her hands were free, hoping she could pull herself back up, but she could find no purchase. From the top, where she had just been standing, she could hear an odd pair of footsteps, a slide and then a stomp... She knew that sound!

"Oz! Oz, down here, help me up!"

Craning her neck back so she could see the top, she realized she hadn't fallen far, but the distance seemed to grow and shrink, undulating, waves and tides of hopelessness clashing against determination. She only knew she couldn't fall... No matter what, no matter the price to herself, she couldn't let the smoke swallow her. From the ledge, she could see Oswald crouch down, shiny soles of his designer shoes peeping over the very edge.

"What are you doing there Harry?"

He grinned down at her, folding a closed umbrella over his lap. Harry was too frantic, her breath ragged, mind swirling, heartbeat thrumming in her ears, to question much or realize it wasn't her Oswald she was facing either. She just wanted back up on the ledge. Back where the light was. She didn't want to fall.

"Oz, please... Ned's gone bloody crazy. Help me back up?"

Oswald's mouth curled, his nose scrunching a little as he peered around him, as if pondering her request dramatically. Her heart hit her stomach like a cannonball into the sea.

"Nope. Can't do that Harry. You're needed down below... With us. You know it. Just give in."

Oswald reminded her of her own ambition, her own stubborn determination, that unbreakable will that only survivors could really hold. Oswald was her, a child, crammed into that cupboard, starving, malnourished, alone, dreaming of bigger, better things, wanting... Needing it. This Oswald seemed to have got what her Oswald and herself hadn't. Decked out in a ball suit, shiny Italian leather shoes proudly on display and an all too knowing smirk gracing his face.

"I don't want to go down there! I won't! Please! I... I... I can't fall! I can't become like him... I can't!"

Tears began to mist her eyes, fogging her vision, cloying and clamping in her throat as she held them back.

"No one wants you to be Tom, silly. We want you, to be you! Don't you see Harry?... You are already falling."

The was a slice through the air, a blade being unsheathed, and from Oswald's umbrella, a sword sprang free.

"No, no, no, no, no, don't! Please!"

But it was too late, he had plucked up the checkered chain and cut through it, freeing her legs, vanishing as soon as the link broke. Once again she was falling, sinking, plummeting down. Before the smoke could devour her completely, the chain around her neck yanked her to a stop. Her hands flew to the chain, grasping, yanking, trying to breathe but it was too tight. Her legs kicked out, pushing and kicking against the rock behind her, but yet again, it did nothing.

"Hahahaa, ho, ho, hahaaaa."

No, no, no! Not him! As if the smog around them was solid ground, Jerome strolled out of the mist, crossing his arms and legs as he sidled up to her, leaning a shoulder against the wall, watching her with that damned, wide, pointy smile of his. Unfolding one of his arms, he pulled out a dagger, twirling it around his fingers playfully.

"Now what do we have here? Still clinging on, even after all that you've done? How many death eaters and rogue witches and wizards have you killed now? Oh, wait, that's right... You've lost count. Their faces are all the same now. The only thing that matters to you is the hunt... The challenge... The game. That's the only thing you can remember. You're the master of death after all! Death isn't morals and good intent... It just is. It devours. It eats without distinction, the good, the bad, the gray, it takes all in the end. It doesn't need rhyme or reason. Just like you. How long before Deatheaters and the odd naughtly little wizard stop slating your thirst? How long before you can't push back that hunger anymore? Face it, death is inevitable, just like your fall... Eat and be merry!"

Master of death... Harry would laugh if she wasn't being choked. That, just like all the other Deathly Hallows had been a ploy, a double-edged sword in the end. She loathed that moniker. Immortality! Life, forever unending! Beating death at his own game! What a joke. Death never lost. Being denied death, having it stripped from you, robbed... It left you hungry, parched, starving for it. And so, you basked in other peoples, the only sauce of nutrition against that sort of starvation. And it was starvation. Harry knew it. Felt it. Lived it day in day out. That gnawing in the pit of her stomach. It was why she did what she did. Hunt down the remaining death eaters. Kill them as the Ministry of Magic had ordered her to. It stopped the ache, if only for a few blissful moments. However, she could only wonder what would happen if... When she ran out of criminals to hunt down. What would she do then?

Harry couldn't speak, the chain was too tight, but she frantically shook her head. She knew what he was going to do but still she hoped, prayed, he wouldn't. Only death was below her, watching, waiting for her to slip and become what he wanted her to be.

"What? Cat got your tongue? Hahaaa. C'mon Harry. Lighten up! It's not all bad. Down there, you can do what you want. Say what you want. Be who you want... Isn't that what you've always wanted?... To be free?"

Jerome reminded Harry to how very, very, very fucking close she had come to snapping herself. Tom, whispering in her ear, the thrill of blood pumping through veins, chugging life-force, in the thick of the fight and the urge to kill, to end it all and them, rearing its ugly head. Jerome was her, standing tall in the battle of Hogwarts, bloodstained and undefeated, the bitter taste of Voldemorts ashes on her lips. In the light of recent events, Harry couldn't help but wonder if she had, in fact, snapped that day and was only denying it all along.

"I have to say Harry, you have an odd choice in friends! Or... Is it even friendship, mmmm?"

He slid in closer, lips nearly brushing her cheek. Harry stopped in her rushed and hectic movements, glaring at Jerome.

"I mean, you don't cover a murder for an unhinged forensic detective who might be battling split personality, let a well known underground criminal stay in your home free of charge and play games with a psychopathic mummy killer and say, 'Oh, it's just what friends do for one another!', do you? You can lie to yourself all you want... But you can't lie to us, not here."

His lips skimmed her cheek, tracing a searing line to her ear.

"Why fight? Isn't it time to give in? To let go? You like us not because we remind you of yourself, but because we've done something you haven't been brave enough to do. We've let go. We're free. You want that... You need it... You crave it... So why deny yourself any longer?"

The dagger ripped through the chain. This time, unlike the others, Harry fell with a calm, peaceful sort of tranquility. Acceptance. Down and down and down and down... All until a hand grabbed hers. Harry hadn't known her eyes were shut until they sprang open, zapping above to the man that was trying to pull her up. She was back at the top of the thin tower again, as if she had never fallen to begin with, just slipped, Jim Gordon half hanging off the edge, heaving her up.

"Come on Harry, you have to help me! Pull yourself up! Don't give in! Ignore them!"

Harry blinked rapidly, hand and body still slack. She was dazed, confused, mind as foggy as the darkness around her. Frightfully, she realized she had liked the sensation of falling once she had stopped fighting it. From below her dangling feet, she could hear their disembodied voices calling out for her.

"What falls but doesn't break, and what breaks but doesn't fall? Night and day! Let go Harry, join the night! It's pretty with the stars out!"

"Really Harry? You're going to let someone else tell you what to do again? How well did that work out with Dumbledore? Let go!"

"Come on down Harry Potter! Let's put on a show!"

Jim tugged at her once more, his tone growing more frantic.

"Harry... You don't have to do this. Fight. Pull yourself back up. You can do it. I know you can."

One finger broke free, then another, and another.

"But... I don't want..."

And then she-...

Harry snapped up in bed, covered in sweat despite the open window blowing in a chilly wind next to her bed, heart racing, eyes searching, chest heaving. A dream... She had been dreaming... Harry broke down into heady sobs. She couldn't remember and it scared her, thrilled her, excited and terrified her...She couldn't remember if she had let go in the end or not.

* * *

 **NEXT CHAPTER IS THE LETTER E! \- ** If you have any prompts, one word and beginning with e, that you want to read, make sure to send them to me! As I said before, there were so many I really liked last chapter, that I've added most of them this chapter. I thought it worked rather well, so I might do it again next time. However, because I wanted one solid theme, I sort of assigned certian prompts to each character and kept one that bled through all of them. This was done sort of randomly, but if you have a prompt that you want to be paired off with a certain character, just say so and I'll give it a shot. Your imput and suggestions are always welcome and are really what is driving this story forward. :)

 _ **THANK YOU! Really!** _ To everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited, I really do hope I'm at least meeting your expectations and you are enjoying whatever this is as much as I am writing it up! XD As always, _**PLEASE REVIEW,**_ not only do I really like hearing your thoughts, they help push the story forward and give me much needed inspiration.

Until next time, stay beautifull! ~ _AlwaysEatTheRude21_


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